Harry Potter and the Vale of Destiny
by twistyguru
Summary: Sequel to One Wizarding Summer. Harry and Cedric return to Hogwarts for Harry's fifth year. Expect new allies and relationships as canon gets turned on its head. WARNING: M/M SLASH! Harry/Cedric; manipulative!Dumbledore, some bashing, AU, no spoilers
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Herein begins the sequel to _One Wizarding Summer _and _Once Upon A Cedric_. WARNING: contains M/M SLASH—don't like, don't read. Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and his betrothed, Cedric Diggory are returning to Hogwarts for Harry's fifth year. Expect new allies and relationships, and a more confident Harry. Also contains manipulative!Dumbledore, Hermione/Ron/Ginny bashing, and a different world from canon altogether.

**Disclaimer: ** I do not own Harry Potter, Cedric Diggory or any of the other characters, situations or places presented herein which have been previously published and/or described in any of the works of JK Rowling. I do not profit in any material way from this work. This is a work of fiction, and any and all resemblances to real persons alive or dead are purely coincidental. None of the situations described herein should be construed to reflect the motivations, orientations or behavior of the actors which portray these characters in any cinemagraphic adaptation of published works. This work is intended for entertainment purposes only, and is written with gratitude towards JKR, for creating such a wonderful world in which we writers of fan fiction play. I promise to treat the boys gently (with Umbridge, not so much) and to put them back when I'm finished playing. This disclaimer should be understood to apply to each and every chapter of this work, as well as any other works in this series which I write.

**Harry Potter and the Vale of Destiny**

**Chapter One**

Cedric Diggory raced down the corridor inside the Hogwarts Express in hot pursuit of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.

"Potter, when I get my hands on you, you're dead meat!" Cedric yelled, furious. He could feel the tingle of the Rainbow Bum charm on his buttocks, where Potter had cast it just seconds before.

For his part, the Savior of the Wizarding World was laughing gaily as he dodged, bobbed and weaved his way through the few people still in the corridors of the Hogwarts Express. His passage was creating more than a bit of chaos as people stopped and turned back and forth to watch the pursuit, and he appeared to be opening up the distance between himself and the pursuing Hufflepuff.

Then, Cedric saw his chance.

"HOLD THAT GRYFFINDOR!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

Harry's head whipped around at the sheer volume of Cedric's order, then turned to see just who Diggory was yelling at...only to crash into a group of Hufflepuff uppers.

"Not so fast, Potter," a male voice said, just as several sets of hands latched onto Harry. Despite the struggles of the Boy Who Lived, their grips--and the sheer press of several bodies blocking the compartment way--brought him to a halt.

In a flash, Cedric Diggory was there, his hand clamping down on Harry's shoulder in an implacable grip.

"Stebbins, Summerby, Finch-Fletchley," Cedric nodded to the trio that had captured the fleeing Gryffindor. "Thanks for the assist," he grinned.

Justin Finch-Fletchley smiled broadly. "Glad to be of help, Ced...these Gryffindors are a slippery lot, aren't they?" The other two boys just nodded, their grins just as large.

"Oh, they can be, but they usually calm right down when they're finally caught," Cedric laughed, giving Harry's shoulder a good squeeze.

"Oi, standing here!" Harry whinged. "You Hufflepuffs and your sodding 'stick together-ness', he said, the beginnings of a pout starting. "I'd have gotten clean away if they hadn't caught me."

"Oh, clean away to the front of the train...and then where would you have been?" Summerby laughed, straightening his robes.

"Think you can handle this little lion now, Diggory?" Finch-Fletchley asked, his eyes sweeping over Harry critically. "Although, I would have sworn that there wasn't nearly this much of him last spring," he said.

"Oh, there's much more of the prat now than at the end of the last term," Cedric confirmed. "It's amazing what a few growth potions will do for a scrawny little git."

"That, and landing a Hufflepuff as a betrothed, I'll wager," Stebbins smirked. "Saw the articles about you two in all the rags...good catch, Potter," he said, giving Harry a punch on the arm. "One thing you need to know, though, little Gryffindor...screw with one 'puff, screw with us all. Break his heart, and you'd best just plan on staying in your tower for the rest of your natural life...if you want to have a life, that is."

Harry just grinned back at the boy. "If I told you that Cedric's been given the same speech...only several more times than me...would it make you feel any better?"

"No." Stebbins' face suddenly because serious. "We're _'puffs_, Potter...we actually mean it." His eyes bored into Harry's, who looked back just as intently.

"None of you have anything to worry about, on either side," Harry said intently, his eyes flashing emerald green. "He's mine, and I'm his, and there's an end to it."

Stebbins didn't move or break eye contact for a long moment, then nodded fractionally. "Good enough. Just remember...'puffs are the loyal house, and that includes 'puffs by association, too. We're here when you need us." Then, he grinned. "Of course, that doesn't mean that we won't bring popcorn when you two have the inevitable drama moments, either."

"Stebbins!" Cedric burst out, as the other boys (including Harry) burst into laughter. "My house is filled with berks, prats and gits," he said, looking upward as his complaint went to the heavens...or at least, the roof of the compartment way.

"Well, then, it looks like the Sorting Hat put you in the right place," Harry laughed, which earned him a mock glare from his boyfriend and a round of laughter from the other boys.

"Oh, you'll do, Potter," Summerby said, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "You'll do, indeed!"

* * *

A few minutes later, Harry and Cedric were in a compartment, in each other's arms. Cedric pulled his boyfriend close, and leaned in...then gave Harry's bottom a quick slap with his hand, followed by another.

"Ow!" Harry barked at the unexpected stinging sensation. "Prat! What was that for?" he asked in a wounded voice.

"Prat back! Like I couldn't feel the tingle in my pants when you cast the Rainbow Bum on me?" Cedric snarled down, then gave Harry another pair of quick swats.

"Ouch! Stop it!" Harry commanded, trying to wriggle away.

"So...have you been punished enough, or do I need to turn you over my knee for a proper spanking?" Cedric held him firm.

"Enough...that stings, you git," Harry whinged.

"Oh, I thought you liked spankings, pervy," Cedric tried to lean in for a kiss, but was denied.

"Not like that...and not where your parents, and my godfather, and the Malfoys and every other set of parents in the world can look in the window and see," Harry griped.

"A minor inconvenience," Cedric grinned. "Now, wave to your adoring fans," he said, releasing Harry and settling down in a seat by the window to look out.

"You're just hoping that we'll be on the cover of the next issue of _Teen Witch Weekly_," Harry snickered.

"Actually, I was hoping for the _Crystal Ball_," Cedric shot back. "Their readership runs to a better class of pervert."

"As if class has ever mattered to you, about anything," Harry said. Then, reaching out for Cedric's hand. "It's one of the few things I love about you."

"Few things?" Cedric asked, deadpan. He turned to regard Harry, one eyebrow climbing his forehead.

Harry just grinned back, totally unrepentant. "Yeah, a few."

"Git."

"Prat."

"Cheeky monkey."

"Chee! Chee!" Harry answered, then began making monkey faces and gestures, scratching his head and belly at the same time. "Chee! Chee!"

Just then the warning whistle sounded, and Harry abandoned his monkey act to tear open the compartment window and lean out, waving madly.

"Sirius! Remus!" he called, and was rewarded by answering shouts from the pair as they stood together some distance away.

Cedric elbowed his boyfriend out of the way so that he too could hang out the window, looking for his parents in the crowd. Ignoring the cries of "Look, it's Harry Potter!" as well as the popping of flashbulbs he was able to find his parents, who were already waving back at Harry's grinning face.

"Mum! Dad! We'll send you an owl in a day or two," he promised, just as the train began to move, and saw both of his parents nod their understanding as they pulled away.

Both he and Harry continued to wave until the train was completely out of the station. When he and Harry were both safely back inside the compartment, Cedric closed and locked the window before casting a one-way privacy charm on the glass. Not that he expected anyone to try and pace the train on a broom or anything like that, but he'd put nothing past the press in their attempts to capture a picture of the Boy Who Lived. Especially since he was planning on some rather extensive snogging of that very same Boy Who Lived on the trip to Scotland….

His hopes were quickly dashed, however, when a knock came on the compartment door just as he was turning away from the window.

Harry's "Come in" was answered by the door sliding open. Neville Longbottom—no, now it would be Lord Longbottom, Cedric reminded himself—was standing there looking uncertain.

"Harry, Cedric…mind if I come in?" he asked carefully.

"Of course not, Neville," Harry answered cheerfully. "Of course, you realize that you're interfering with my boyfriend's plans to snog me all the way to Hogsmeade Station," Harry went on in the same tone of voice.

Neville, Lord Longbottom, Lord and Head of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Longbottom immediately blushed bright red and began stammering. "Well, uh…I didn't mean to…I'll just be going, then…."

Harry laughed out loud at his friend's discomfiture, reaching out to pull the other boy into the compartment. "Oh, relax, Neville…come in and sit down. I'm sure Cedric won't mind too much." Still grinning, Harry turned to his boyfriend.

"Of course not," Cedric said, his smile telling Harry that he was only mildly disappointed at having his snogging delayed. "In fact, you've probably saved us the trouble of coming to look for you, Longbottom. There are some things that we need to talk about before we get to Hogwarts, and this is as good a place to have a private discussion as any."

Neville nodded. "Just as long as you two won't mind me leaving after a bit. I told Hannah Abbott that I'd meet her later on the trip, after the Prefect's meeting."

"Oh, really, Neville?" Harry asked. "And just what are the two of you going to discuss?"

Neville just grinned at Harry's raised eyebrow. "Probably some of the same things you and Diggory here will be 'discussing'" he made quote marks in the air with his fingers, "after I leave."

"Oh? And just when did this start?" Harry just had to know.

"Hmm…sometime between the first and second Dementor attacks in Diagon Alley, I guess?" Neville's brows creased in thought, then he shrugged. "It was after my first trip to Paris, but before my last one…."

"Just a second, Neville," Harry interrupted. Turning to Cedric, he asked, "Ced, could you put up a set of privacy charms?"

Nodding, Cedric was about to do just that when the compartment door banged open.

"Oh, there you are, Harry! I lost you on the platform, and I've been looking for you ever since we boarded." Without so much as a by-your-leave, Ginny Weasley flounced into the compartment and plopped down onto the seat by Harry, across from Neville and Cedric, talking a mile a minute. "Mum was about to go spare when she saw you talking to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and then Ron and Hermione had to go straight to the Prefect's meeting so they couldn't wait in a compartment for you to come find them. So, I told them to go on to their meeting and that I'd find you and then we'd all be in the same compartment after they finished their meeting. Oh, hi, Neville," she said, finally noticing the other Gryffindor in the compartment.

Cedric couldn't help but notice that she never acknowledged his presence at all. He was debating just what cutting remark to start with when another knock came on the compartment door.

Neville reached out and slid open the door, revealing a somewhat familiar girl with straggly, waist-length, dirty blonde hair, very pale eyebrows and protuberant eyes that gave her a permanently surprised look. An aura that was distinctly dotty came from the girl, no doubt helped by the fact that her wand was stuck in her hair and she was wearing a necklace of butterbeer corks. She was carrying a copy of _The Quibbler_, and smiled somewhat dreamily into the compartment.

"Hullo, Ginny. I thought I saw you chase a wrackspurt in here…did you catch it?" the new arrival asked.

"Harry, this is Luna Lovegood," Ginny said, introducing Harry to the girl but totally neglecting to mention Neville and Cedric. "She's in my year, in Ravenclaw." Ginny shrugged, ignoring the girl's original question.

"Wit without measure is man's greatest treasure," Luna quoted in a sing-song voice. "You're Harry Potter," she said, her eyes meeting Harry's.

"I know I am," Harry said. Before he could say anything else, the strange girl turned to the other two boys.

"You're Cedric Diggory, I read about you in the papers," she said, making eye contact with Cedric before shifting her gaze to Neville. "And you're the new Lord Longbottom…Neville, isn't it?" she asked in the same dreamy voice. Without waiting for a reply, she stepped into the compartment and slid into the seat beside Neville.

"Mind if I join you? I just need a place to sit and read my paper without being disturbed, and most of the other compartments are quite…disturbing." Again without waiting for a reply, she opened her newspaper and disappeared behind it. Cedric couldn't help but notice that it was upside down.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the compartment, only to be broken by Neville's asking "Guess what I got for my birthday?"

"Another Rememberall?" Harry asked, smiling. He and Cedric knew that Neville had received quite a number of strange and interesting (to him) seeds and cuttings from them when they returned from Japan—his letter had conveyed his excitement over his new plants—so this must be something different altogether.

"No, something much better!" Neville reached into his bag and rooted around for a moment before pulling out a small black case. Opening up the front flap on the case carefully, he revealed a small grey cactus-like plant, covered in what looked like boils rather than spines.

"_Mimbulus mimbletonia_," he said proudly, turning the case so that Cedric, Harry and finally Ginny could see. "It's really, really rare," Neville said proudly, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the thing pulsed slightly, looking rather like a diseased organ. "My Great-Uncle Algie got it for me in Assyria, and I don't think they have one at Hogwarts, even! I can't wait to show it to Professor Sprout—I'm hoping that she'll help me try to breed it."

Cedric was wracking his brain, trying to remember just what the plant was (and more importantly, why Neville should be so excited about it) when Ginny leaned forward and reached out.

"So…it looks like it's pulsing, almost like a beating heart, Neville," she said.

"No, Ginny, wait! It's got a very sensitive defensive system…" Neville tried to pull the case back from Ginny's hand but was too slow. Before he could remove it, she stroked the plant with a sharply-nailed finger.

Immediately, thick, dark green, stinking liquid jetted from all of the boils on the little _mimbletonia_. Most of the sap splashed against the walls of the case, while the remainder of the liquid splashed all over Ginny, covering the girl from head to knees in a foul-smelling mess.

"NEVILLE!" Ginny screeched, then spat out a mouthful of the disgusting liquid.

"S—Sorry," Neville stammered, aghast. "I didn't realize…but don't worry, stinksap's not poisonous," he finished lamely.

"You'd better go wash that off before it sets, Ginny," Luna looked over the top of her paper at the dripping Gryffindor. "You're lucky the girl's loo is only a few doors down in this car," she said, before disappearing behind her paper again.

Sputtering and dripping stinksap, Ginny glared at everyone in the compartment before opening the door and leaving angrily. As soon as she was gone, Harry pulled the door closed while Cedric cast an air-freshening charm, removing the smell of rancid dung from the compartment.

"Thanks, Neville," Harry said, grinning.

"Yeah, thanks, Longbottom," Cedric echoed.

Neville looked up from where he was using _Scourgify_ to clean up the stinksap that was still in his carrying case. "Not a problem. Although, I didn't think she'd be dense enough to touch an unknown magical plant like that."

"Ginny's very impulsive, like most of the rest of her family," Luna's voice drifted out from behind her paper. "As I'm sure you and Harry know quite well, Neville. She also sometimes completely forgets that she can use magic, which is why she took my suggestion about going to the loo to wash up rather than just using a cleaning spell on herself."

None of the boys seemed to know how to respond to that. After a moment, Luna lowered her paper and folded it neatly before standing up. "I'd best be going to see after her," she said. "Don't worry, I'll keep her away from you for rest of the ride…I'm certain that you all have serious business to discuss."

The boys all tried with various success to control their shocked expressions at Luna's words. Harry was the first to recover.

"Thanks, Luna…but, how did you know?"

Luna smiled gently. "Silly, my daddy publishes _The Quibbler_. Don't you think that I haven't been following the news about all of you this summer? Besides, Daddy's sources have been hinting that Harry Potter and his betrothed are two of the prime forces moving to finally connect Dumbledore to the Rotfang Conspiracy." She winked at Harry conspiratorially. "Just remember me when you're about to go public with the evidence, would you? I'd love to scoop the _Prophet_ on that exclusive."

"S…Sure," Harry responded lamely, as Luna gave them a small wave and left the compartment. Shaking his head, he turned to the other two boys. "So, is she always like that?"

"I have no idea," Neville replied, while Cedric just shrugged. "I've seen her around the school, but that's all."

"That's all I know about her, too," Cedric added. "Of course, everyone knows the _Quibbler_ is full of rubbish, but they actually did a bit better reporting what actually happened in the Alley this summer than the _Prophet_…if you could ignore the nonsense, that is."

"That's really not saying much, to compare them favorably to the Prophet," Harry groused. "Still, it is an established newspaper, and it might not be a bad idea to have her as a contact. You never know when something like that might come in useful."

Both Cedric and Neville agreed. Then, at Harry's unspoken request, Cedric began putting up a series of privacy and locking charms, effectively sealing the three of them off from the rest of the train. When he finished, he lowered his wand and sighed.

"There, that's done. We should be able to speak freely now."

Harry nodded, and smiled at Neville. "So, Lord Longbottom, is it? Congrats one more time, Neville."

"Thanks, Harry. Like I told you on the platform, Gran was already planning on having me declared the Head of House after my birthday, so your letter was just icing on the cake. What really surprised her was your suggestion that we visit your friend in Paris to have a new wand made for me." Even with Cedric's privacy spells, Neville was practicing caution, just as Harry had urged him to do in his original letter. Seeing Harry and Cedric nod in understanding, Neville grinned. "Have a look at it, if you want," he said, holding out his wand proudly.

Harry and Cedric both made appreciative noises over the beautiful wand, but neither of them made any attempt to touch it. Even if Ginny's recent accident hadn't been fresh on their minds, they both had enough experience with LeGrande wands not to tempt fate, especially with such a new wand.

"It's grand, Neville," Harry was the first to comment. "The wood?" he asked, curiously.

"Marblewood—a very strong 'earth' wood, very grounded—with an occamy feather as the core," Neville said. "Harry, you can't begin to imagine how much better it feels to be using a wand that actually suits my magic."

"Oh, I suspect we can," Harry grinned at his friend. "Cedric and I both have LeGrande wands, too."

"It's a bit like flying a Firebolt after being stuck with a school broom," Cedric explained, Harry nodding his agreement. "Once you change, you'll never go back."

"Certainly not," Neville agreed. "Of course, there was…the other thing, as well," he said, looking at the door suspiciously.

Harry and Cedric shared a look, then Harry pursed his lips and asked the question that had to be asked. "Neville, did you see Dr. Latour, as we suggested."

"Don't worry about us being overheard," Cedric assured the younger man. "I put up three different silencing spells, with an alarm spell tagged to the outermost one. I'll know the instant someone tries to take them down."

Neville nodded, then took a deep breath. "It's a good thing we were in Paris when Healer Latour told Gran and me his findings. Had we been at Hogwarts, I think that Gran would have hexed both Madam Pomphrey and the Headmaster right then. As it was, she had plenty of time to cool down before we came back home." The young Lord shook his head. "It helped that Dr. Latour took the time to explain to her that he had found something similar with you."

"I assume that you'd already told him what was in our letter, then," Harry said grimly.

"Of course. He told us that, had we not told him that, he wouldn't be able to tell us anything, but since we already knew he could confirm what you had said." Neville shrugged. "He didn't add anything, naturally, just said that your magic had also been blocked and that he was working on releasing on it. He told me to ask you about anything else, so you could decide what to tell me."

Cedric shifted across the compartment to sit closer to his boyfriend, and nudged his knee into Harry's in a show of support. He felt Harry nudge him back, but the Boy Who Lived was already speaking to his friend.

"Did he tell you that there were actually two blocks on my magic, not just one?" Harry asked. Taking Neville's wide-eyed expression as a negative, Harry pressed on. "Well, there were two separate spells, not just the one. I'm guessing he only found one on you?"

"Yeah…and it looked like it had been placed when I was a baby, and never removed like it should have been. In fact, Gran swore to me that she had Madam Pomphrey remove my infant block when I was eight, and since I've never seen anyone else but Poppy…." He trailed off, his face neutral.

"So, did anyone ever think to ask why Madam Pomphrey—who has a full-time job as the Healer at Hogwarts—was also your own personal healer, Neville?" Cedric asked.

"Gran and I talked about that, and she said that Dumbledore always had Poppy take care of me because 'it was the least he could do', considering what happened to my parents while they were working in his Order."

"Naturally," Harry said sarcastically. "And if it just happened to assure that you'd never see a healer outside of his control; well, who would question the great Albus Dumbledore?"

"Exactly. Still, Healer Latour told me that my core would be completely unbound within a few weeks, and he sent me back to Little Jacque and Albert to see if they could make me something that would help with the process."

"And?" Cedric asked, beating Harry to the question.

Neville didn't say anything, just pushed the sleeves of his robe back, then unfastened and rolled up one of his shirt cuffs. There on his wrist was an oval of erumpet ivory held in place by what appeared to be graphorn leather. It was surprisingly similar to the necklace that Harry now wore under his own shirt, except that a delicate Celtic symbol was carved into the ivory disc. It was truly a beautiful work of art.

"Little Jacque told me that he'd learned from what he made for you, and that this—and the one I wear on my other wrist—will not only help damp down any accidental magic flares I might have while my core is being unblocked but also mimic the presence of the block while I'm wearing it." Neville's smile was a bit grim. "Not that anyone would ever check, you understand, but Little Jacque insisted. He also said that the dampening charm would gradually fade over the next several weeks, and the mimicking spell would last about a year. After that, it's only a piece of jewelry."

"It's very nice, Neville," Harry said, Cedric nodding as he did. "Did Little Jacque or Albert mention…anything else to you?"

Neville grinned. "Like your bracelets, you mean? Yes, he did, but Gran was a bit leery of them. And, quite frankly, I've had all that I could do, getting used to my new wand."

"I can see that," Cedric said. "I can't speak for Harry, but I feel the same way. Having two wands now is just about more than I can manage."

"I'm not really managing more than two, now," Harry said. "Since my old wand really isn't usable, and my 'other' wand isn't really a wand at all," he grinned.

At Neville's confused look, Harry—with occasional help from Cedric—began explaining just what they had found out about his old wand. That led to a discussion about what they suspected about Dumbledore and his plans. Given what Healer Latour had discovered about Neville, it seemed that Neville was to be the backup to Harry, in case Voldemort succeeded in killing him before the Headmaster could spring his 'magical bomb' trap on the Dark Lord.

Before they knew it, Harry and Cedric had brought Neville almost completely into their confidence, only withholding the information about Cedric's journey into the 'other future', and all that he had returned with. Like Sirius, Remus and Mad-Eye, Neville was allowed to conclude that anything out of the ordinary that the boys might produce was actually the product of their extended vacation. This was reinforced by Harry showing Neville his chopstick-wand, which despite having an active magical core was only slightly more useful as a wand than a regular chopstick would be. Then, after he had been suitably primed, it was time for more gifts to come out.

"Harry, I couldn't, really," Neville tried to protest as Harry and Cedric both rummaged in their backpacks for shrunken items.

"Shut it, Longbottom," Harry grinned hugely. "You don't have a choice in the matter. Besides, as the Backup to the Boy Who Lived, it's in my own best interest to make sure you're armed to the teeth! Magically speaking, that is," he finished.

"But…but…this is all too much!" Neville sputtered, only to be waved down by Cedric.

"Neville, are you or are you not the Head of House Longbottom?" the Hufflepuff demanded.

"Well, of course, now I am," he answered.

"Good. Correct me if I'm wrong, but haven't the Longbottoms and the Potters been allies for as long as the two families have been in existence?" Cedric didn't look over at Harry, although he could see Harry's head whip up in confusion and surprise at hearing this.

Neville, though, merely nodded solemnly. "So I've been told, yes."

"Well, then…the last of the Potters needs your help. Are you a Longbottom, or not?" Cedric pressed, not breaking eye contact with the other young man.

Neville's lips pressed into a thin line, and a determined glint lit up in his eyes. He took and released a deep breath, then straightened in his seat.

"Harry James Potter, Lord and Head of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Potter, attend me. I, Neville Francis Longbottom of the House Longbottom, do offer you my oath both freely and without reservation. From this day forward, your enemies shall be mine enemies; your allies shall be mine allies, and your heirs, children, vassals and assigns I shall defend as mine own. Your secrets shall be mine, and I shall guard them with my life. As our families have stood together in the past; so shall we stand together today, and in the days to come."

As he spoke, Neville had raised his LeGrande-made wand, which began emitting a soft glow as he offered his oath. All three young men in the compartment felt the press of magic rise and swirl around them as Harry pulled out his own LeGrande wand (from the concealed holster inside his right boot) and answered his housemate's words with his own.

"Neville Francis Longbottom, Lord and Head of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Longbottom, attend me! I, Harry James Potter of the House Potter, do offer you my oath both freely and without reservation. From this day forward, your enemies shall be mine enemies; your allies shall be mine allies, and your heirs, children, vassals and assigns I shall defend as mine own. Your secrets shall be mine, and I shall guard them with my life. As our families have stood together in the past; so shall we stand together today, and in the days to come."

"So mote it be," Neville intoned.

"So mote it be," Harry finished the ancient ritual.

With an audible 'crack', the magical oath sealed itself between the two young men, making each of them give a jerk before sitting back. Cedric, watching something that he had read about as a child but never expected to see, felt himself pushed back with the press of magic that swept out from the two. It reminded him of nothing so much as a wave crashing over him, drenching him before passing onward and outward.

* * *

Deep within the bowels of the Ministry, an ancient tome sat upon an equally ancient stone pedestal. For the first time in many years it stirred, before opening itself with a dusty 'plop'. The pages glowed brightly for several seconds before fading, which attracted the attention of the robed Unspeakable who was on duty in the room.

Curious, the Unspeakable rose from his desk and strode to the Book of The Great Families. Quickly, he read the newest entry concerning two of Wizarding Britain's oldest families, then snickered quietly.

"Didn't waste any time, did you, boys?" he asked himself. "Algie's going to be fit to tied when he hears this." Shaking his head, he walked back to his desk and began looking for parchment and quill to send his fellow Unspeakable a memo.

_Dear Algie:_

_ The Boys have reaffirmed the Oaths binding the two Families together._

_ Who had 'on the Hogwarts Express' in the pool?_

_I told you they wouldn't wait until the Christmas holidays, didn't I? Still, I put my money on 'second week at Hogwarts', so I'm as out of luck as you are._

_That'll teach us!_

_Basil_

Still chuckling to himself, he charmed the letter into a paper airplane and sent it on its way. That done, he began filing out the 'official' reports that would have to be filed with the appropriate persons, updating them on the information recorded in the Book.

This was going to be a good day!

* * *

It was several seconds before Harry, Neville or Cedric moved or said anything. All three of them were a bit overwhelmed at the strength of the magic that had just accompanied their Oaths.

"What just happened?" Harry asked, looking to the two purebloods for answers. "I mean, I know Neville and I just gave each other magical oaths, but…"

Neville sighed, giving Cedric the eye to let him explain the situation to Harry. "Harry, I assume that somebody—Sirius, maybe?—has been tutoring you in the traditions of the old Families, correct?"

"Actually, I've been learning most of it by reading some of the books on pureblood culture in Sirius' library," Harry confessed.

At Neville's shocked look, Cedric jumped in. "He's telling the truth, Longbottom. That's where the little prat found the betrothal ritual he popped on my father. There's no telling just what he's managed to pick up along the way."

Neville shook his head, partly in amusement and partly in astonishment. "Then it's a miracle that he didn't kill us both just now," he quipped before continuing. "Harry, your family and mine have been allies for centuries, probably even before Hogwarts was founded. What we just did was to renew that bond, using the old ritual, albeit in modern English. Gran taught it to me this summer, after I became Head of my House. Presumably, had You-Know-Who not intervened, we would have done it in a formal ceremony with all of both families in attendance—hopefully when we were both much older."

"So…did we screw something up, by doing it this way?" Harry asked. "All I did was repeat what you said exactly, since you looked so certain about what you were doing."

Neville shook his head firmly. "No, not at all. And, you did the right and proper thing. Had you just been parroting the words, nothing would have happened. Since we all felt the magic of the oaths, I know that you were just as serious as I." The last of the Longbottoms grinned. "Good thing, too. Since it looks like Dumbledore has been meddling with both of us for years now, we'll probably need each other's support before too long…."

Cedric cut Neville off abruptly. "Somebody's pounding on the door, while someone else is working on the privacy wards," he snapped.

"Probably the Prefects, come to see what just happened," Neville ventured, while Harry blanched at the thought.

"Not to worry," Cedric said, already taking down his wards. "It's none of their business, so neither of you has to say anything that you don't want to."

Neville noticed Harry's growing look of anxiety and moved quickly to reassure his friend. "Diggory's right, Harry…if we're pressed, just say that it was a matter of Family business. That makes it private, and nothing short of a majority vote by a quorum of the Wizengamot can be used to make us discuss it with non-family, if we don't want too."

Harry relaxed a bit, and sighed. "Nev, a day doesn't go by that I wind up learning something new about this whole 'Head of House', 'Old Family' business. Could you make sure I don't screw anything up too badly?"

Neville snorted, amused. "Of course. In fact, Gran's already talked with me about the possibility of her giving you some 'catch up lessons', if you're interested."

Harry nodded vigorously. "Really? That'd be great, Nev, if we can work it out."

Before Neville could reply, Cedric interrupted their conversation. "Talk about that later, you two. Last ward coming down…now," he said, leaning back and looking casual.

Neville and Harry both tried to look as innocent as they possibly could as the compartment door slammed open. Standing there, wands out and (in Ron's case, fist raised to bang on the door once more) were Hermione, Ron…and Draco Malfoy. Behind them, Cedric could hear assorted shuffling and other sounds to let him know that they had a large audience, but for the time being he concentrated on the trio in the doorway.

"Harry!" Hermione shrieked. "We were in our meeting when we felt a surge of magic from this compartment! What happened?" she demanded.

"Um…nothing?" Harry said with a shrug, trying for innocent and failing horribly.

"Nothing worth mentioning," Neville clarified, leaning back in his seat casually.

"Nothing worth…?!? Neville, we all felt something very powerful, and I'm certain that it came from in here," Hermione insisted, her strident voice causing everyone in the vicinity to wince.

"Harry, mate, you were sealed in here, and we didn't know but what You-Know-Who might have…" Ron trailed off, clearly confused.

"Well, he didn't, and we're obviously all right, so why don't you lot just piss off," Cedric said with just a touch of heat in his voice. He noticed Draco's eyes narrowing as the Slytherin surveyed the scene without speaking, looking for some clue as to what had happened.

"You should know that we can't do that, Diggory," Ron barked. "We're Prefects, for Merlin's sake! Now, you'll be telling us what happened, or…."

"Family business." Neville's voice was coldly authoritative as he interrupted his fellow Gryffindor, bringing Ron to an abrupt halt.

"Family business? What kind of 'family business' sends a powerful magical wave through the Hogwarts Express? You probably scared half of the lowers to death, not to mention sending every familiar and pet on the train into fits!" Hermione exploded.

Harry was taking a deep breath to try to reason with the bushy-haired girl when he felt Cedric's hand on his knee, steadying him. That gave Neville the second he needed to continue managing the conversation.

"It was a matter of Family business between the Potters and Longbottoms, Granger," he said in the same authoritative voice. "As such, the details don't concern you," he said, clearly dismissing Hermione. Unfortunately, she didn't take the hint, and shook off Ron's hand on her arm as he tried to gently distract her ire.

"I'll remind you that I'm a Prefect, Neville, and as such anything that affects the safety of the students on this train is my business. Now, what were you three up to?" Hermione huffed, crossing her arms and sweeping the room with a glare. It was exactly the wrong approach to take.

Neville Longbottom rose from the bench, standing upright so that he could look down at the shorter girl. "Excuse me, Miss Granger?" he said politely, his face immobile.

"I said that, as a Prefect, I'm responsible for the safety of everyone on this train, and I'm still waiting for an explanation," Hermione snapped, meeting Neville's eyes.

"As I've said, it was a matter of Family business. Furthermore, I give you my word that whatever may have happened here, it poses no risk to anyone on this train."

"And I'm just supposed to accept that, Neville?" Hermione made no move to uncross her arms or soften her voice.

"Actually, in this case I'm speaking as Lord Longbottom; so, yes, you are," Neville snapped back, his own irritation beginning to show.

Hermione's eyes went wide as she gaped at the boy she thought she knew. "Neville!" she hissed. "Just what are you playing at?"

"You heard the Lord Longbottom, Granger. There's no risk to anyone on the train, and I suspect that whatever happened won't be happening again." Draco deftly distracted Hermione before she had a chance to explode, turning her anger towards him. "He said it was Family business, Granger, or didn't you hear? That means that we're not meant to know unless he or Lord Potter want to tell us…and they obviously don't. So, since we have Longbottom's word that nothing's amiss, the best thing for us to do is to go on about our business." He glanced quickly between Cedric, Harry and Neville before turning back to the bristling girl. "There's obviously nothing to see here. I suggest that we move along and leave them be."

Hermione's eyes were as wide as saucers as Neville was supported from a completely unsuspected source. "Malfoy! You can't mean…?"

"He's right, 'mione!" Ron said firmly. "It's Old Family business, which means that it's not for us to know…."

"I know what 'Old Family business' means! More of the pureblood nonsense that Malfoy's father spouts! Or had you forgotten, Ron?" Hermione turned on her friend, furious.

"It's not just the purebloods, 'mione, but all of the Old Wizarding Families, even mine," Ron tried to explain, blushing.

"And I suppose that you know what it means better than I do?" Hermione wasn't about to be soothed.

"Actually, Granger, Weasley almost certainly knows what it means better than you, if for no other reason than he was raised in this culture and you were not. That's one of the reasons that Potter was talking to my father about a class in Wizarding Culture being added to the Hogwarts curriculum on the platform just before we boarded. Scarhead here," Draco said, with a nod to Harry, "made the point that we shouldn't expect people like you—the muggle-born and raised—to have the same understanding and appreciation for our traditions as those of us who literally took them in with our mother's milk."

If Hermione noticed that Draco wasn't being deliberately insulting, she gave no sign of it. "I'll have you know that I've read…" she began, only to be cut off by her boyfriend.

"Hermione! As much as I hate to admit it, Malfoy's got a point," Ron said. "We all know that you've probably read everything in the Hogwarts library about wizarding culture; it's just that, well," he paused, then shrugged. "Reading it just isn't the same," he finished lamely.

Seeing that Hermione wasn't convinced, Harry spoke up. "Hermione, Ron and Malfoy are both right. Reading about wizarding culture isn't the same as having been brought up in it. Trust me on this one, I've been reading it all summer long and there's still loads that I don't even begin to understand."

"I see that you understand enough to suck up to the purebloods at every opportunity," Hermione snapped at Harry.

"Is it sucking up to show respect to our culture, then, Granger?" Draco asked silkily. "How remarkably…provincial of you," he sneered. Turning to address the boys in the compartment, he nodded. "Lord Longbottom, Lord Potter, Mr. Diggory…I apologize for disturbing you, but you can see how we would be somewhat concerned."

Neville nodded regally. "Of course, Malfoy, of course," he said, smiling at his one-time nemesis. "As I said, it was a bit of Family business, now done. And, I rather doubt that we'll be troubling you any further today. I'd appreciate if you'd spread the word that we apologize for any inconvenience we might have caused, and that no one was in any danger at any time."

Draco nodded, then moved to block Hermione—now resisting Ron's attempts to maneuver her away from the door—so that he could get a hand on the compartment door. "I'll do that, Longbottom," he said, starting to close the door.

"Thanks, Malfoy," Harry called, smiling at Draco's nod as the Slytherin mouthed 'later', before shutting the door. Out in the corridor, the boys could hear Hermione going off on Ron with a vengeance, her voice carrying up and down the corridor like a banshee.

"Well, I think that went well," Neville quipped sarcastically, collapsing back onto his seat.

Harry and Cedric just gave him matching sour looks, and settled back into their seats.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, there you have it—the long-awaited first chapter of the sequel to _One Wizarding Summer_. I apologize for making you wait so terribly long for it to come out. Alas, my fan fiction writing time has shrunk almost to nothing, because I'm actually doing Real Life work with my writing now. While this is wonderful (for me), it also means that working on this story has to be pushed 'way down the priority list. What this means is that updates will be very slow in coming, sadly. However, this fic is NOT abandoned—it's just having to wait a bit while I work on my new career. Ditto with my _Cliché of Death_, and other fics…I'll get to them when I get to it, which sadly won't be for another several weeks, at least.

Thanks to all of you who wrote asking about updates...hopefully, this little taste of what's to come was worth the wait. Sorry I can't name you all, because then I'd almost certainly miss one or two, and I'd never intentionally slight any of you if I could help it. Your messages are too important to me for me to do that.

Special thanks to **Toki Mirage** (whose _Bloody Skies_ is highly recommended), to **Digitallace** (Mistress of Rabid Plot Bunnies), and to **Kamerreon** (his _Articulated Scissors_ drabble series is absolutely mind-blowing in brevity and determination). Their fics are the ones that I read while the morning coffee is seeping into the veins, getting me ready to face another day.

The idea for "Wizarding Life and Culture" classes is from **Ten Toe's** _Harry's Twist_, which is a truly excellent read (and I really wish would get another chapter or forty--heh, like I can talk!). However, don't expect my Harry to be quite so blatant with 'outing' the duplicity of certain parties as in that particular story…at least at first. There are several more ideas which you may or may not have seen before scattered through this fic, just like the previous ones. Sadly, when you've read as much fan fiction as I have, it gets impossible to remember just where you ran across something, or if it was just an absinthe dream….

And about the title…the Veil in the Ministry will play a largish role (I think) in this fic, but it's not THE Vale. At least, not according to my current outline. All will be made clear, in the fullness of time.

And, while I can't promise anything, tons of reviews may actually help me squeeze a little more time out to work on fan fic…but we'll never know unless you review, now will we?

**Next Chapter:** still more revelations, plotting and planning on the Hogwart's Express....


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**A/N:** the Headmaster, the Dark Lord, and the boys…that's about it. Bit of foreshadowing, maybe...not much else. *snicker*

**Disclaimer:** as before, I own nothing related to the HP universe, nor do I make one thin dime from this.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore sat in his office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry catching up on the inevitable last-minute start of term paperwork. Just after the stroke of eleven, his attention was drawn to a tiny model of a bright red steam engine as it gave a merry 'Toot! Toot!' from its position high on a shelf. Smiling and nodding, the Headmaster acknowledged the signal that the Hogwarts Express was once again leaving London, en route to the Hogsmeade station with its load of students.

In reality, the model's signal was fairly useless, since any catastrophe serious enough to delay the departure of the Express would be quickly reported to the Headmaster by the Station Master. Still, it was part and parcel of the routine of the first day of the term, and Albus wouldn't have changed it for anything. Even the Express itself—bemoaned as a 'radical innovation' a mere one hundred-odd years previous, displacing as it did the slew of thestral-drawn carriages which had served for centuries—now represented the beginning of the Hogwarts term across the length and breadth of the nation. Albus chuckled, recalling the flap which the shiny red engine had caused, and the insistence by several old families that the journey from Hogsmeade station to the castle itself continue to be by carriage 'for the sake of tradition'. He had only been a boy at the time, but he remembered the controversy over the building of the London-Hogsmeade line vividly. And now? Now, there weren't a handful of people in all of wizarding Britain who could imagine any other way for students to travel between Hogsmeade Station and London.

It was that kind of dependability, of steadily and steadfastly clinging to routine and tradition that had carried his school and his world through the past several centuries. That reverence for tradition, for 'the way we've always done things' was one of the things that he counted on daily. All of those little rites and rituals were what gave the process stability and continuity, and each one added just a bit more to the grand ceremony of custom and convention that was the Hogwarts Welcoming Feast. For the new students, it would be their first exposure to the wonder that was his school; while for the older students and alumni it was an event to remind them of their own youthful days. Everyone who had ever attended Hogwarts remembered their own Welcoming Feast, and would continue to do so. It was a touchstone to their past, to their traditions, to possibly the most happy and important times of their lives.

And, since those traditions made the rabble just a bit more receptive to manipulation and control by one Albus P. W. B. Dumbledore, so much the better!

Ah, tradition!

* * *

Meanwhile, deep within the bowels of Hogwarts, in a room just off the main kitchens where no human had ventured in centuries, a wall-mounted diagram of the castle began to shift and adjust itself to reflect the changes going on in the complex above.

Sensing the changes, an ancient house elf shuffled over to the wall and peered up, his rheumy eyes scanning carefully until he saw...an empty hallway being opened up for the first time in decades.

Grinning, the old elf waved over a number of younger elves.

"Weez is lucky elves today, weez is!" he chortled. "There is being more work to do, up above!" Gesturing to the map with one hand, he grinned toothily at the surprise of the younger elves. "Yes, yes," he wheezed. "The Lords Hall is open once more! Weez is having young Master Lords and House Heads to serve. So, off with youze! There is being more rooms to clean, and making ready!"

Smiling, a clutch of elves vanished to take care of the new rooms that had just become accessible.

A wide grin still on his face, the old elf continued to look up at the diagram for a long minute before returning to his work. It promised to be an interesting year, indeed.

* * *

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy stood on platform 9 ¾ until the last car of the Hogwarts Express passed from view. Then, as the crowd began making its way home, the Malfoy patriarch turned to his wife, a small grin playing on his face.

"Lady Malfoy," he said, quietly.

Narcissa glanced at her husband, somewhat surprised at the formal address. "Yes, Lord Malfoy?" she replied, curious.

"It occurs to me that it has been far too long since we spent any time together in London. What would you say to a light lunch, then an afternoon of shopping and sightseeing?"

Narcissa blinked, and then a smile blossomed on her face as she realized just what she had been asked. "Why, Lord Malfoy…are you asking me out for a day on the town?"

"I might be," Lucius averred. "Besides, what better use could I possibly have of my time, if not spending it in the company of a beautiful woman?"

"Hmm, I don't know. Just how many beautiful women have you been spending time with lately?"

"Only one, my dearest, only one," Lucius was quick to assure the former Miss Black. "Besides, did you see the suit your cousin was wearing under his robes? It if wasn't Savile Row I'll eat my cane!"

Narcissa smiled at her husband's tone. While the Malfoys were known to favor all things magical above things muggle, there were a few areas in which even the most ardent purebloods acknowledged the capabilities of muggles. The tailors of Savile Row were among that very small class of muggle whose expertise impressed even the most particular of wizards. And, knowing her husband as she did, she knew that he would never allow her cousin to out-dress him. Since Sirius would undoubtedly be seen out and about—especially at the Ministry, given his soon-to-be-assumed seat on the Wizengamot—then it logically followed that Lucius Malfoy required several new bespoke suits for his own ventures among the common herd.

Well, sauce for the goose, she thought. It's not like I've spent any time in Paris recently, and I could use a few new gowns. But, in the meantime….

"Well, we certainly can't have you be out-dressed by Sirius, can we?" Narcissa laughed. Taking her husband's arm, she allowed him to lead them towards the barrier back to the muggle world. "I suppose that I could be convinced to accompany you to your tailors, but only after I let you buy me a drink."

"Oh, so you could be convinced, is it?" Lucius asked. "Well, I suppose that the next question is: where shall we do lunch?" And with that, they stepped through the barrier and reentered King's Cross Station.

* * *

Narcissa and Lucius had just been seated in an unassuming little restaurant not too far from the Station when Lucius grimaced and clutched his forearm.

"I…have to go," he ground out through gritted teeth. "I'm sorry, my love," he said, rising swiftly. "Go ahead and have a good lunch, there's no need for you to wait for me to return."

Narcissa nodded her understanding. "I'll meet you back at the Manor, then?" she said. It was more of a statement than a question.

"Hopefully soon," Lucius said, before striding towards the exit.

Narcissa nodded once, then caught the eye of the approaching waiter. "My husband was called away on an emergency," she explained. "Still, I see no reason why I shouldn't enjoy myself in his absence. What do you recommend as an appetizer?"

* * *

Lucius strode from the restaurant and looked around, his arm still burning with the residual pain of the summoning. Fortunately, this was only a 'usual' call by the Dark Lord through the Dark Mark, rather than a sustained (and _very_ painful) punishment call. Spotting an out of the way alcove, he ducked inside and apparated to the Dark Lord's sanctuary.

Arriving at the apparation point in the new 'Riddle Manor', Lucius stepped aside quickly to avoid running over Avery. His quick movement away from the arrival point kept him from being trampled in turn by Yaxley and Parkinson, who managed to arrive virtually simultaneously and then fall in a tangle of limbs.

Wincing in sympathy at their display, Lucius took another step further away from the point before transfiguring his robes and handkerchief into the expected Death Eater garb and mask. Slipping the mask into place, he turned away from the ongoing confusion at the apparation point and strode purposefully towards where he saw Voldemort waiting for his forces to arrive.

"My Lord," Lucius said, bowing deeply before moving to stand to one side. Taking his place impassively, he noted that Voldemort was almost vibrating with excitement. Well, that didn't bode well. Stilling himself, Lucius wrapped his Occulumency shields more tightly around his thoughts and clamped down on his emotions firmly.

At last the bulk of the summoned Death Eaters managed to sort themselves out and move to cluster around their Master. Fortunately for them, Voldemort was in such an exuberant mood that he gave them the time to assemble themselves without using a touch of the old_ Crucio_ to motivate them.

"Well met, my Death Eaters, well met!" he began. If he noticed that Parkinson was still in his purple and gold brocade morning slippers, he didn't remark on it. "I've summoned you to me so that you may carry out my latest plan to bring about our overthrow of the corrupt, Muggle-loving Ministry and the humiliation of that Muggle-loving fool Dumbledore!"

* * *

Severus Snape was just beginning to add powered sheep marrow to the large cauldron simmering in front of him when his Dark Mark began thrumming with pain.

Among his several duties as Potions Master at Hogwarts, he was tasked with providing Madam Pomphrey with the bulk of potions, elixirs and unguents that she would use over the course of the school year. Typically this was no great imposition, as most of the common medical and healing potions were not difficult for a man of his skill to produce. However, there were a few instances—the Wolfsbane potion which he had been required to brew for Remus Lupin, just to name one—that actually tested his skill as a brewer. As fiendishly difficult and finicky as Wolfsbane was to brew, Snape could acknowledge that after having been forced to make it almost a dozen times, his skill with that particular concoction had greatly increased. Of course, he would have died under Cruciatus before he would have admitted that little fact, especially to the wolf.

Fortunately, this was a less than critical step in the process of making blood-replenishing potion, and the uneven shake he gave the rust red material had no visible effect on the mixture. Setting himself against the pain, he gave the cauldron the quickest of stirs before dousing the flame beneath it with a wave of his wand.

Muttering to himself about the rotten timing of wizards everywhere, he pulled a cover over the cauldron and went to gather up his Death Eater robes and mask. Fortunately, at this stage the potion could be left unattended for several hours without any appreciable loss in potency. As he left the room, a single quick glance sufficed to reassure him that the other cauldrons—among them Pepper-Up, pain-relieving and anti-bruising potions in various stages of completion—would also keep until his return in what he hoped would only be a reasonable period of time.

As he began to stride across the Hogwarts grounds to the edge of the anti-apparation wards, he consoled himself with the thought that at least the Dark Lord hadn't summoned him in the middle of the Welcoming Feast. Although, Severus wouldn't be surprised if that very thing didn't happen, now that he had jinxed himself by thinking about it.

Snape arrived at Riddle Manor without incident, and immediately moved to take his usual place in the ranks around the Dark Lord. As usual, he was one of the last to arrive, having not only one but two acceptable, iron-clad reasons for not responding to the summons immediately. One, he was typically inside of Hogwarts' wards, which required several minutes at a brisk walk to pass beyond so that he could apparate. Two, he was a Potions Master, and only the most ignorant of wizards would question a Potions Master's delay when he was 'at the cauldron'.

Snape had suffered more than one Cruciatus at Voldemort's hand because of that little defect in Tom Riddle's education. However, after a carefully arranged conversation with Lucius Malfoy—planned so that the Dark Lord could not help but to overhear—about a certain fool of a mudblood from the Ministry who had expected Snape to drop everything in the middle of a particularly tedious potion for some inconsequential reason or other, that had rarely been a concern for Snape. Of course, it had also given Malfoy an excuse to vent his spleen in a most impressive fashion about the ignorance of mudbloods. _("You must be joking, Severus! The fool actually expected you to stop a brewing in progress? How incredibly gauche! Didn't the idiot realize just how dangerous, not to mention rude, the very thought is? Obviously, the man didn't know a thing about proper wizarding behavior.")_

After that, the former Tom Riddle had been much more circumspect in his demands upon Snape's punctuality when summoned. After all, it wouldn't do for the Ultimate Champion of Wizarding Superiority (as he sometimes referred to himself, but only when alone) to commit such a serious social faux pas, now would it?

Said Dark Lord (and Ultimate Champion, not that Snape would know about that) was still delivering his usual post-summoning exhortation (some might call it haranguing, but never where Voldemort could hear them), lessening Snape's fears that he might have missed something important or useful. However, just as he was settling himself into place, he heard something that threatened to destroy his carefully-cultivated mask of cool indifference.

"And so, my loyal Death Eaters, I have decided that our next strike against those who resist us will be so daring, so spectacular and so terrifying that it will completely destroy their will to resist! Not only will you deliver a resounding blow to the worthless cretins in the Ministry of Magic, but also against that wretched fossil Dumbledore himself! You will show the rabble that we can destroy them anywhere, and at any time of our choosing, and that their leaders are powerless to stop us!" Pausing for dramatic effect, Voldemort took a deep breath before continuing. "Today, you will destroy the Hogwarts Express!"

* * *

_Meanwhile, back on the Hogwarts Express:_

After Hermione, Ron and Draco left, it was several moments before anyone in the compartment felt like resuming their conversation. When they did, Cedric once again put up a multilayered set of privacy charms before he and Harry again went into their backpacks for Neville's gifts.

There was the obligatory fountain pen and pencil set, with personalization charms like those on the Headmaster's—Harry and Cedric had a good laugh telling a thoroughly scandalized Neville just how Harry had managed to get one over on the Headmaster by not telling him about the charm before he touched his set—as well as a magically duplicated copy of _**Potions for Dummies**_. Of course, the original in Harry's bag had been carefully altered to remove all evidence of its futuristic origins, so this wasn't something that the boys had worried about. Still, they swore Neville to secrecy about the book, only saying that it was something they didn't want bandied about the school for fear of reprisals from Snape. Knowing the irritable Potions Master as he did, Neville readily accepted this explanation without any questions, and swore only to use it when alone or with either of them.

"Hermione'll go spare if she ever finds out about this," the Lord of House Longbottom said. "Knowing her, she'd think it was some kind of cheating, and would report it to Snape and Dumbledore right off."

"Agreed, which is why she mustn't find out about it," Cedric said firmly, Harry nodding beside him. "I know that she's been friends to you both since the first year, but…" he shrugged.

"Actually, Diggory, you might be surprised about that one," Neville said, without a trace of humor. "Aside from Harry and Ron, I rather doubt that Hermione has any friends at all. Certainly none of the girls in her year in Gryffindor consider her to be a friend."

"Neville's right, Ced. Hermione has acquaintances, but she's been far too busy trying to make everyone behave the way she thinks they should to actually make friends." Harry shrugged. "It's not that we haven't tried to get her to lighten up, but…." He raised his hands in a gesture of uselessness. "If she's not off on one crusade or another…."

"Like S.P.E.W.," Neville snickered.

"Exactly, like S.P.E.W.," Harry agreed, "or nagging on people to study more, or refusing to let anyone copy off of her notes or homework…let's just say that most people in Gryffindor tower go out of their way to avoid her, if they can."

"Like almost everyone else from the other houses, as well," Cedric said, nodding his head. Exactly as he suspected, he thought to himself. And, all the more reason to keep his Harry well away from the Shrew of Gryffindor! At least for the next few dozen years or so, until she matured a bit and became more like the adult Granger he had encountered in that 'other' universe.

Neville was nodding in agreement with Harry. "Sadly, you're right, Diggory. I hate to say this, but she's probably the best argument at Hogwarts that the purebloods have _against_ the muggle-born! She's not only smarter than most of the rest of us, but she's not afraid to remind us of that on a regular basis. And, just because she's been muggle-raised and has read a few books on the wizarding world, she thinks that she's the final arbiter of what's right and what's not. Now, I don't know about either of you two," he said, looking back and forth between Harry and Cedric, smiling, "but most people I know, regardless of their birth status, don't take kindly to being preemptively told that they're completely wrong about something they've believed all of their lives." He sighed, then continued. "No one will argue that Hermione's very bright…but in many ways she is her own worst enemy. And, Merlin help anyone who tries to tell her that!"

"So, Granger's not exactly long on tact or subtlety, I take it," Cedric mused.

At that, Harry and Neville both laughed out loud. "Ced, Hermione's got all the tact of a herd of rampaging hippogryphs…" Harry began.

"…and all the subtlety of a dragon with diarrhea," Neville finished, as all three of them snickered at the image he had just called up.

"So," Harry said, after they had all finally calmed down enough to talk without snickering, "we'd appreciate it if you'd keep that Potions book under wraps, Neville."

"Not a problem, Harry. Still, I don't expect it'll help me much with Snape this next year. You know how he feels about me."

"Actually, Neville, we're working on that very problem. No promises, except that we're going to try to take some of the burrs out of old Snape's britches," Harry assured his friend.

"Well, good luck with that!" Neville snorted, disbelieving. "Dare I ask how you're going to pull off that miracle?"

Harry and Cedric shared a look, then Cedric nodded fractionally. A squeeze of his hand let Harry know that Cedric would back whatever decision he made. Harry smiled back at his boyfriend, assured of his support, and then turned back to his friend.

"We're going to re-open the Chamber of Secrets, and get Snape to help us salvage what we can from the basilisk carcass that's down there," he said quietly. "If we give him a substantial portion of whatever potion ingredients he can harvest, then he'll be in our debt."

If Harry and Cedric expected Neville to be shocked by this revelation, they were disappointed. "I suspect that the venom alone is worth a king's ransom," he said, his eyes narrowing to slits as he considered what he had just heard. "Then there's the hide—I'm not sure just how valuable all of the shed skins will be, but they have to be worth something, if only for the rarity of the things—plus any blood that's not coagulated, then the liver…." He leaned forward slightly in his excitement. "Whatever you do, don't let Snape talk you out of the fangs! Each one by itself will fetch a small mountain of galleons from the Goblins. If you happen to be able to get both," he broke off, shaking his head. "Well, a mountain of galleons wouldn't be enough to buy a matched set of basilisk-fang daggers."

"They're that valuable?" Harry asked carefully.

"Oh, yes, love," Cedric said, suddenly realizing just what a fortune was potentially waiting on them. Of course, he had known about the basilisk being in the Chamber, but until this moment it had always seemed a bit…unreal to him. Now, as he actively thought about just what might be _in_ that basilisk carcass, he felt a bit overwhelmed by it all.

"Harry, a dagger carved from the fang of a basilisk is one of the most dangerous magical weapons that you could possibly have," Neville was explaining while Cedric sat there, stunned. "They are literally the stuff of myth and legend. Not only can they be charmed to carry all of the potency of the original venom forever, they also are said to take other enchantments readily. If it can be killed, then a basilisk fang dagger should kill it—and if it can't be killed, then that dagger will make it very unhappy for a very long time." Neville sat back, grinning. "Of course, if you should happen to feel that your good friend and ally, the Head of House Longbottom, should need one as a birthday gift, feel free."

Neville's smug tone—so unlike the young man that Harry had known for years—made Harry burst out laughing once again. "Oh, I'm sure that he would," Harry laughed. "And he'll get it, too…three days after Arthur comes back!"

Cedric smiled to himself as he watched the exchange between his boyfriend and their latest ally. Certainly the summer had seen tremendous changes in Harry, and from what Cedric had seen and heard this Neville Longbottom had done quite a bit of maturing as well.

"I must admit, Longbottom, you're not the man I thought you would be," he said.

Neville's smile never faltered, but his eyes were sharp as he turned to the Hufflepuff. "You mean, I'm not an incompetent duffer like your wanker of a boyfriend said I was?"

"Right in one," Cedric replied calmly, both he and Neville ignoring Harry's 'Oi!' of displeasure. "And glad I am to see it, too. Of course, I did consider the source when I was learning about you, but still…OW!" he said, rubbing his arm. "Git!"

"Neville, I'm sorry that you had to see that," Harry said, not sounding sorry at all. "He's a great thumping prat, but he's mine. What can I say?" he said, shrugging.

"I think it's tragic, the amount of spousal abuse I see in both of your futures," Neville deadpanned. "I just hope that I'm around to see most of it, with popcorn and butterbeer and lots of candy floss."

"We'll try to see that you get good seats," Cedric said dryly. "You're on your own for the rest, sorry."

"Do you think we should sell tickets, Ced? After all, it would never hurt to have a few extra galleons coming in," Harry asked.

"If you do, put me down for a season's worth. No, make that two sets—Hannah would never forgive me if I left her out of the show."

"I am surrounded by Gryffindor gits," Cedric said, a disgusted look on his face. "Merlin help me!"

"Oh, no, Merlin himself can't help you now! You're doomed, doomed I say!" Harry laughed, then lunged. "Cover your eyes, Neville! This isn't something you should see," he called out as his fingers dug into Cedric's ribs, tickling madly.

"Oi! Gerroff, you prat! Gerroff, not in front of…" Cedric protested, before twisting to catch both of Harry's hands in his own.

"Are you two going to be like that all term?" Neville wondered. "If so, I think we need to start negotiating the butterbeer concession straight away. If this is any indication of what's to come, by Christmas I'll be rich as Malfoy!"

Cedric and Harry both laughed at that, before settling down comfortably against one another. "Actually, Neville, no…sorry," Harry said. "As much as we'd like to carry on like that in public, we know that we can't."

"I'm sorry if it offended you, Longbottom," Cedric apologized, only to be waved off by the young Lord.

"Not at all…in fact, it's good to see Harry so happy," he said easily. "Still, there is one thing that I do find a bit insulting, Diggory," he went on.

"Oh?" Cedric asked, his eyebrows climbing. For the life of him, he couldn't think of what he might have done to give offense. Well, the antics of his boyfriend aside, that is.

The Head of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Longbottom fixed the scion of the (much) lesser family with a gimlet eye. "Oh, yes, Diggory. I'll have you know that my name to my friends is Neville, not Longbottom, and I'll thank you to address me as such."

Message received, Cedric nodded. "And I'm Cedric, not Diggory. And, since it looks like we're both going to be putting up with Lord Prat here…."

"Oi! Right here, gits!"

"…then I suppose we should be on friendly terms."

"Good enough." Neville and Cedric gave each other a single nod, and it was settled. "Now, Harry, Cedric, I want to hear everything that happened over the summer, but I doubt we'll have enough time today. Besides, you'll have to tell it again to Gran a few weeks from now in Hogsmeade, so I won't insist on the whole thing right now. Could you just give me the pertinent facts; things that didn't make the papers, I mean, so we can have a little time to make plans before we arrive this evening?"

Impressed by the young man's foresight and understanding of the situation, Harry and Cedric set about giving Neville a bare bones run down of their summer.

It was one of the most interesting tales the young Lord had ever heard.

* * *

"Today, you will destroy the Hogwarts Express!"

Severus Snape froze at the Dark Lord's pronouncement, years of practice keeping any outward expression of his immediate reaction from showing.

Not all of his fellow Death Eaters were so restrained.

"My Lord! Surely not…" Porliss Parkinson gasped without thinking, only to be interrupted by Voldemort's hiss of displeasure.

"_Crucio!_" The Dark Lord's wand snapped out, and Parkinson's objections immediately turned into screams that went on…and on…and on. Finally, the Dark Lord released the curse, leaving Parkinson gasping and weeping on the floor. Turning, Voldemort swept his eyes across the remaining Death Eaters, looking for any signs of rebellion or disagreement. Fortunately for the rest of them, Parkinson's outburst had given them ample time to bring their reactions under control. What the Dark Lord saw was only impassive or eager faces.

"I see that most of you do not share your comrade's eagerness to contradict your Lord. Still, I wonder…Brockton, what do you think?" Voldemort asked silkily.

Silas Brockton, recent recruit and bachelor, pulled himself up importantly. "My Lord's wisdom is of course beyond question," he pronounced confidently. "The destruction of the Hogwarts Express will be a tremendous blow against the muggle-lovers and their ilk. It will show them, beyond all doubt, our power and resolve."

"_Our_ power, my dear Silas? _Crucio!_" This time, Riddle held the curse only for a three-count. "Now, you were saying…?" he asked in the same silky tone.

"Y…Your power, my Lord, of course I meant your power…" the Death Eater gasped, sagging in relief when Voldemort nodded in satisfaction and turned away from him.

"Anyone else care to offer their opinion? Come now, we are all wizards here," the Dark Lord said lightly. "Does anyone else have any objections to offer?" Left unsaid was the inevitable fate of anyone who would disagree with him; no one in attendance was foolish enough to believe that the floor was actually open for anything even remotely resembling a debate. So, it was quite surprising when Lucius Malfoy cleared his throat before speaking.

"My Lord?" he asked carefully.

"Yes, Lucius?" Voldemort asked, turning smoothly to address the man. If Lucius noted the way his Lord was fingering his wand, he gave no sign of it.

"My Lord is well aware that the next generation of his followers—our heirs—are aboard the Express. Might I inquire as to just how they will be removed from harm's way before we carry out the destruction of the mudbloods and blood traitors?" For all of the emotion in his voice, he might as well have been inquiring about the weather.

"Why Lucius, are they not loyal to me? Are their lives not mine to command?" Voldemort asked. His wand was twirled easily between his fingers as his full attention focused on the blond man.

"Of course, My Lord," Lucius replied smoothly. "Just as we all do, they live to serve you and your purposes," he said, putting just the slightest bit on emphasis on _live_. "I know that my son, along with many others, look forward to the day when they may take your mark and enter fully into your service."

"And if I decide that they would best serve me by dying this day? What then?" Voldemort demanded, his eyes sweeping the ranks of Death Eaters once more before returning to meet those of the Lord Malfoy.

"Then, my Lord's will shall be done," Lucius said calmly, bowing deeply.

Severus was probably the only one close enough to Lucius to see the tightening of his jaw as he bowed. Fortunately for Lucius, his face was once more impassive when he straightened. Not that it would have mattered, as Voldemort had already spun and was now stalking among the other Death Eaters.

"Any of the rest of you? Care to put the welfare of your children—all of whom you have promised to me—ahead of your Master's wishes? Well, speak up, speak up!" he insisted. "You, Goyle…your son is on the express with Parkinson's chit, and Malfoy's brat…what say you?"

Goyle tilted his head to one side, then spoke carefully. "I still don't understand how we're supposed to get our kids off, before we blow the train. Did somebody mention brooms? Or could we use flying carpets?" He looked genuinely pleased with himself at having that thought, and beamed at the Dark Lord.

Voldemort froze, then brought his free hand up to pinch the bridge of what passed for his nose while he shook his head. Muttering to himself, he looked up. "Goyle, I was talking about destroying the train with all the students on board," he said, exasperated.

"But that'll kill all our kids…and pretty much kill off some of our families," Goyle answered, confused. "That sounds like a dumb thing to me, so…" once again he brightened. "Oh! This is one of those loyalty test things, isn't it? Where you ask us to do something stupid to see if we'll do it, but you don't really mean for us to do it, right? Okay, I get it now," he said. Then, smiling, "sure, Boss, kill everybody on the train, no problem," he said, winking broadly at the most feared wizard since Grindelwald.

Voldemort just stood there, wand half-raised, gobsmacked. Around him, the other Death Eaters seemed to be roughly equally divided between rolling their eyes, snickering, or diving for cover.

"Well done, Goyle," a smooth voice rang out. "You have most certainly penetrated our Master's intent in this matter." Snape found himself—to his own abject horror—speaking before he realized what he was doing.

"Oh, Severus? Tell me, am I indeed so transparent?" Rounding on the Potions Master, Voldemort's tone left no doubt that Snape's life hung by a very slim thread at that particular moment.

"My Lord," Snape began, bowing directly to the Dark Lord. "What else could it have been, other than a test of the loyalty of those with heirs or relations on the Hogwarts Express?"

"Oh, really? How so?" Voldemort hissed, striding back to his original position in front of the room.

"Simple logic, my Lord," Snape answered, his voice carefully neutral. "To the best of my knowledge, we are still at least several months away from being able to move against the Ministry directly. Also, it was my understanding that your policy for the time being was to encourage the Minister's denial of your return for as long as possible, preventing them from strengthening themselves before we are ready to strike. The destruction of the Hogwarts Express—with or without sparing any heirs—would only serve to immediately provide a _casus belli_ around which Dumbledore and the Ministry could rally the populace, while providing them with enough evidence to convince the masses that you have indeed been reborn. Therefore, I can see no logical benefit that might result from such an act. Indeed," he shrugged, "attacking and destroying the Hogwarts Express at this stage could only hurt the cause, making it an unreasonable course of action. That being said, you must have some other reason for announcing such an act openly as you did, with the most simple answer being that you wished to assess the reactions of your followers—especially those with heirs on the Express—to that pronouncement."

"Neatly reasoned, my dear Severus," Voldemort answered coolly. "Now, since you've done so well in penetrating my little 'test', what are your thoughts on an appropriate gesture to convey my displeasure at Dumbledore and the Ministry to the world at large?"

Snape paused, thinking furiously. Obviously, this was to be his own test of loyalty, with a failure to satisfy the Dark Lord carrying what would be, at best, terribly unpleasant consequences for one Severus Snape. So, just as obviously, he would have to come up with a reasonable target for a Death Eater raid that would be almost as spectacular as the destruction of the Hogwarts Express, while still allowing the Ministry to continue to blame said attack on 'random acts of terror and violence', just as they had done after the Quidditch World Cup. Furthermore, the Dark Lord clearly wanted something that would significantly affect the Headmaster in a personally meaningful (and ideally, very painful) way. Snape still didn't understand just what had happened recently in Little Hangleton, but Voldemort had been seething about the loss of his family's ring ever since the day someone had triggered the wards he had placed there. From what Snape had been able to surmise, Voldemort believed it to have been Dumbledore who was responsible for the theft—the hat was a rather glaring piece of evidence—but that was all that he had learned. He hadn't dared to contradict Voldemort, but his discrete questioning of the Headmaster in the interim led Snape to believe that Dumbledore hadn't ventured out of the castle at all on that particular day. Suffice it to say, the Dark Lord was furious, and he wanted to punish the Headmaster in a dramatic and blatant fashion.

Suddenly, the corners of Severus' mouth twitched as an idea came to him. "My Lord, if I might offer a suggestion…."

* * *

Harry was just finishing with a description of Sirius' trip to Malfoy Manor, and some of their speculations about the Malfoy family when the refreshments trolley came by. Fortunately, Cedric's charms let them know when the trolley lady knocked, as all three boys found themselves famished. After making a largish hole in the cart's supplies of sweets and snacks, the three sat back in the re-charmed compartment to discuss what Neville had just heard.

"If I hadn't heard it from both of you, or seen Draco's reaction a bit ago, I'd never have believed it possible," Neville said.

"And I wouldn't blame you in the slightest if you didn't," Harry replied. "But, as shocking as it may seem, we believe that it may well be possible to pry the Malfoys away from Voldie and at least get them to be neutral."

Neville pursed his lips and let out a low whistle. "That would be…interesting," he said quietly. "From everything that Gran and I discussed, it was Malfoy money that was the Dark Lord's main funding source during his last rise to power. Without that," he paused, then shook his head. "Well, without the Malfoy money—and Lucius' influence at the Ministry, of course—I don't see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named having nearly the capacity for mischief as he did on his last go around. At best, he might command a few of the lesser fortunes which together might be as much or more money, but without the Malfoy name the money itself won't be nearly as effective."

Harry and Cedric both nodded at Neville's assessment. "That's our thinking, as well," Harry agreed. "We all know that this war is going to be fought as much in the Ministry as it will anywhere else, and we intend to win in every arena."

"Thus far, Dumbledore's been content to sit back and be reactive rather than proactive," Cedric spoke up. "And, as far as I can tell, he'll continue in that vein for as long as he possibly can, and then only change his tactics when he's forced into it." What he had to be very careful about saying was that, in the 'other' world, Dumbledore had done exactly that, with less than satisfactory consequences.

"That basically agrees with Gran's thinking," Neville said. "We spent quite a bit of time this summer discussing…well, events in general." He smiled, then went on. "I'm not pretending to speak for Gran, mind you, she'll be giving both of you an earful come our first meeting. Still, everything that happened this summer shows that Dumbledore's not moving as forcefully as he could to forestall the Dark Lord's resurgence."

"And isn't that interesting," Harry said darkly. "Judging from what he's _done_ rather than what our 'esteemed Headmaster' has _said_, you'd almost think he wanted Voldemort to rise again."

At this, Neville's face took on a sour look. "That was Gran's conclusion too, Harry; and as much as it pains me to admit it, I can't say that I disagree."

"The most troubling thing to me is how readily so many people are willing to blindly follow Dumbledore's lead. From where I'm sitting, I can't really see any difference between those people, and the purebloods who follow the Dark Lord just because he preaches blood-supremacy." Cedric shook his head in disgust. "All of them are rallying around a 'great leader', and here he made the quotation marks in the air with his fingers while he spoke, "without bothering to think about just where they're being led_ to_." He sighed, and leaned back in his seat. "Call me a bad 'puff, but that kind of unthinking loyalty just doesn't sit well with me."

"As far as I know, the Lady Helga never supported unthinking loyalty in anyone, Cedric. In fact, I think that she actually said some rather scathing things about it on occasion. You might want to take some time to actually research that—it might come in useful in the future, don't you think?" Neville smiled at his new friend.

"I just might have to do that, Neville," Cedric replied, thinking hard. He was sure that Neville was right; it was just a matter of remembering where he had read it. But, that was a task for another time.

Harry caught Cedric's eye and winked, thinking about just how easy that research would be once they got to Hogwarts and set up their laptops. But, he wasn't finished with Neville Longbottom just yet, and they had other things to do before they arrived.

"Oh, here's something I think you'll be interested in, Neville," Harry said, pulling out the slim volume Lucius Malfoy had owled him recently. "This is the_** Hogwarts Rules and Regulations appertaining to Lords and Heads of Houses**_. Now that we're Heads of our Houses, we both need to read this."

Neville looked at the title on the cover of the book and did a double take. "Harry, where did you get that?" he asked, more than a bit surprised. Then, he shook his head and smiled. "Oh, of course…the Black library. Well, naturally they'd have a copy there, wouldn't they?" He grinned at Harry and Cedric, completely missing the looks they passed one another. "You wouldn't believe the trouble Gran went to, trying to find a copy for me to have this summer. Apparently, our family copy has gone missing, Flourish and Blotts claims that it's out of print, and the Hogwarts' library copies have all gone the way of our family copy."

"Er, Neville, this one didn't actually come from the Black library," Harry said hesitantly. "Believe it or not, Lucius Malfoy owled me this copy a few days ago."

"Oh, really?" Neville's eyes narrowed. "Fancy that. Especially since there's not another copy to be had in all of Great Britain for love nor galleons."

"I'll gladly make you a copy, Neville," Cedric said. "I know several duplication charms, but you'll have to wait until we get settled." He shrugged. "The best charms require that you start with real parchment and ink, not just a conjured stack. That's what I used to make your _**Potions for Dummies**_ book, so it should be almost as good as a 'real' printed one. I could make you a copy now, of course, but I won't guarantee that it would last more than a few weeks, before…."

"Neville, did I mention that my boyfriend is a Charms geek?" Harry cut in easily.

"No, not that I recall," Neville answered, ignoring Cedric's snort. "At any rate, it's good that we've got a copy we can make duplicates from, since it appears that it's the only copy available anywhere."

"And there's not a copy in the Hogwarts' library? I find that rather hard to believe," Cedric said.

Neville nodded, his mouth making a wry twist. "So did my Gran, when she owled the Headmaster asking after a copy. He told her that apparently all of the copies in the library had vanished over the years, and that Madam Pince had never brought it to his attention that they needed replacing. He was quite apologetic, actually," he finished.

Harry 'harrumphed' and Cedric rolled his eyes at this last. "Oh, I just bet he was," Harry said sarcastically. "He does 'apologetic' really well, doesn't he?"

Neville winced at this, even as he nodded his agreement. "So right, he does. At any rate, if I could offer a suggestion, Lord Potter?" he smiled, waiting for Harry to nod regally before continuing. "Once your betrothed makes us several copies for our own use, why not contact one of the publishing houses about making a small print run of the book? If nothing else, you can score a few points with the old houses by giving them as Christmas gifts."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "And give a few to the Professors, as well as make a donation to the Hogwarts Library at the same time."

"Put a note in the family gifts saying something about how you hope they never need it, but realize that we are living in perilous times or some such," Cedric put in. "That way you can remind them that the Dark Lord doesn't stint on wiping out those of old blood without coming right out and saying it."

Harry and both Neville murmured their assent to this, Neville focusing on his stinksap plant while Harry began perusing the book. He found it falling open to a section in the very front of the book, clearly marked by a thin silver ribbon. As his eyes, scanned the page, he straightened excitedly.

"Hey, Neville, here's something! Listen to this," he said, then began reading.

"Section 3, quarters for Heads of Houses. Should it transpire that the young Lord ascend to the Headship of his House while yet he remains a student within these Halls…I'm translating from old formal Wizardspeak here, so bear with me, guys…appropriate to his station…as necessary for him to carry out his duties as Head…commensurate with his rank and position in our society, blah, blah, blah…." Harry broke off, his head snapping up to lock eyes with his friend across the compartment. "Neville, it says here that we get our own suite of rooms in something called the 'Lords Hall'!"

The young Lord Longbottom grinned at this. "You mean, after all these years, I STILL have to room with you, Harry?"

"Prat. No, actually it looks like we EACH get our own rooms in this Lords Hall, wherever that is," Harry finished, looking back down at the pages he was reading from.

"Oh, so I don't have to put up with your snoring again this year? How will I ever manage to get any sleep, then?" Neville asked lightly.

"You are such a git, Longbottom. It's Ron's snoring that we'll both have to get used to doing without this year."

"I suppose you're right," Neville sighed theatrically. Then, he winked at Cedric. "Still, it will make it easier for you two to snog each other away from prying eyes, won't it?"

Harry's only answer was the large grin that bloomed on his face as he scooted even closer against his boyfriend. Cedric, on the other hand, was content merely to blush furiously, looking anywhere but at Harry or Neville's faces.

Fortunately for all concerned, at that moment a faint knocking could be heard at the compartment door. Glancing at Neville and Harry, Cedric waited for both of them to nod before he took down the spells that had been guarding them. Reaching out, he carefully slid back the compartment door, wand still in his hand.

Draco Malfoy stood there, alone.

"Diggory," the Malfoy heir said quietly, nodding to Cedric. "Lord Longbottom, Lord Potter," he said, just as quietly.

"Malfoy," Harry acknowledged evenly. "Is there a problem?"

Draco shook his head. "No, not at all, not here on the train. I just wanted to let you know that you'll probably catch all manner of hell from Granger once we arrive in Hogsmeade."

Neville nodded in understanding, while Harry and Cedric both grimaced. "I figured as much, but thanks for the warning," Harry said.

"Oh, Malfoy…?" Neville put in.

"Yes, Longbottom?"

"Thanks for the support a bit ago."

"What could I do? Family business is Family business," Draco shrugged. "I can make a good guess at what you two did to cause a magic surge that powerful, and if Granger would think about it for two seconds she could probably work it out for herself. Still, when you invoked Family confidentiality that should have put an end to it."

"Hermione sometimes gets too caught up in the moment to think things through logically," Harry said, feeling like he had to do something to justify at least a part of his friend's behavior. "Still and all, your help was appreciated," he finished.

Draco nodded in reply, then took a steadying breath. "Yes, well…whatever." He shrugged in dismissal before continuing, speaking directly to Neville. "Longbottom, I need a moment with Potter and Diggory before we get to Hogwarts, if you don't mind," he asked carefully.

At Draco's request, Neville raised one eyebrow at Harry, who shrugged microscopically. Gathering himself and the box with his _Mimbulus_, he stood and made to leave the compartment. "I'll just go and see the lovely Miss Abbott, then," he said. "Harry, Cedric, I'll be back before we get to Hogsmeade to collect the rest of my things, if you don't mind. Draco," he said politely as he slid past the blonde Prefect to make his way forward.

Draco stepped back out of Neville's way, then entered the compartment, closing the door behind him. Taking a seat, he straightened his robes in what was obviously an attempt to cover his anxiety before he spoke.

"Diggory, could I trouble you to put up whatever charms you had up before? The privacy ones?" he asked.

Nodding, Cedric complied while Harry and Draco sat silently, purposefully not making eye contact. When Cedric finished, he lowered his wand and announced "All done." If Draco noticed that he didn't put his wand away, he gave no sign of it.

"Thanks, Diggory. I can be sure that we'll have some privacy now, much more than we'll have at any time once we get back to Hogwarts."

"You're almost certainly right about that, Malfoy," Harry said. "The walls of the castle have ears, all right; and each and every one of them reports to our beloved Headmaster everything that's said within their hearing." He kept his tone light, but couldn't resist a bit of an eye roll at 'beloved'.

Draco laughed outright at Harry's sarcasm. "Too true, Potter, too true. Since I had a few things I wanted to ask you that I absolutely don't want the old coot hearing about, I figured this would be the best time. Especially after seeing just what kind of security someone," he cut his eyes to Cedric, "put up on the compartment earlier. You should have seen the look on Granger's face when her first three attempts to breach your charms amounted to absolutely nothing," he finished, grinning.

Cedric's lips thinned in displeasure. "I suppose that Harry'll catch hell for that, too," he snapped.

Draco nodded, not terribly concerned. After all, he had already faced down the Wrath of Granger while it was still relatively mild. And, the truth be told, he was rather looking forward to seeing just how this new version of Potter (backed by his obviously not-going-to-take-her-shite boyfriend and the new, improved Lord Longbottom) was going to respond to a full-blown dressing down from the Gryffindor Prefect. Well, time would tell, he supposed.

"So, Malfoy…what can we do for you this fine day?" Harry broke into Draco's musings.

Draco collected himself instantly, clenched his jaw and pressed on. "Potter, some weeks ago a pair of letters arrived at Malfoy Manor, letters delivered by your owl. Do you know what was in those letters?" he finished bluntly, looking straight at Harry Potter.

"No, Malfoy, I don't," Harry answered evenly.

"Why do you ask, Malfoy? Were they unsealed?" Cedric asked in a carefully neutral tone.

"No, they were sealed, and the seals gave no sign of having been tampered with," Draco said. "At least mine didn't, and my father didn't say anything about his, so…." He paused, then turned to Cedric. "Diggory, do you know what was in them?" he asked intensely.

"Not precisely, no," Cedric answered honestly. Then, before Draco could say anything, he raised a hand to forestall any response. "Based on…several things, including how you're asking about them now, I can make a guess as to some of the things they might have said…but no, I didn't read either of them."

Draco took another steadying breath, then blew it out slowly while he thought about what he was going to say next. "So…can either of you tell me just how you came to have those letters in the first place?"

Cedric and Harry looked at each other carefully for a long moment before Cedric—acting on Harry's minute shrug of permission to answer—turned back to Draco. "No, Draco, I can't tell you that…and neither can Harry, so don't bother asking him."

"Would you swear to that on your magic?" Draco asked, thoroughly displeased with the non-answers he was getting.

"No." Cedric's answer was flat, absolute.

"Why not?" Draco snapped, beginning to get angry.

"Because…while I might _could_ tell you how I came to have them, I _won't_ tell you, and that's in large part because I _can't_ tell you, not now and probably not ever, for more reasons than I could explain between here and Hogsmeade, so I won't even begin. Understand?" Cedric bit out.

Draco leaned back, a bit shocked by the answer as well as the tone of it. His brows knotted together as he replayed Cedric's reply in his head, and Cedric and Harry could both see the Slytherin sift through Cedric's verbiage, trying to make sense of it.

"So…there are reasons you can't tell me, then? Beyond just 'I can't' or 'I won't because I'm being a right git', that is?" he asked carefully.

"Well, there is that," Cedric smiled, then laughed. "Draco, I give you my word that I'm not holding back just to be a git; and that I have some very good reasons why I'll probably never be able to tell you the whole story. Still, there are some very immediate reasons why I can't say anything more…and you yourself have already mentioned one of the biggest."

"Dumbledore," Draco breathed out. Neither Cedric nor Harry gave any change of expression to indicate anything one way or another when he said the Headmaster's name, which to Draco was as good a confirmation as any shouted declaration would have been. "I see. So, it was you, then, Diggory, who came into the letters in the first place," he said softly.

"I never said that," Cedric replied carefully, looking Draco straight in the eye, his Occulumency shields at full strength.

Draco met and held his eyes intently for several long seconds before looking away. "No, you never did," he replied quietly, a small quirky smile dancing around the corners of his lips. "Still, I wonder if you could tell me this," he went on. "The man who gave you those letters…was he…?" Draco trailed off; unsure of just how to phrase the question he so desperately wanted to ask.

Cedric relented just a bit at the obvious discomfiture of the younger man. "Draco," he began, then paused, thinking furiously. "I can tell you that he struck me as being an honest and honorable man…for a Slytherin."

Draco nodded, his relief evident. Then, obviously struggling with himself, he asked, "and was he…with…anyone?"

"You mean, like a lady, or a girlfriend?" Cedric grinned, while Draco blushed to the roots of his hair and looked away while Harry fought not to snicker. "Yes, I believe he was."

"And was she…I mean, did you get any sense that…." Draco finally gave up, tossing his head in frustration.

"From what little I saw, I would say that she was a formidable lady, Draco," Cedric assured him. "And…if it's any consolation…the man who gave me those letters was not only totally besotted with her, but also very tightly wrapped around her little finger. No, Draco, if you want my opinion…that man thought himself a very lucky man, indeed."

"Oh sweet Merlin!" was all Draco could say, as he collapsed backwards onto the bench. Meanwhile, both Cedric and Harry began gently laughing at him.

* * *

Shortly thereafter, once a confused Draco Malfoy had been sent on his way down the corridor muttering to himself, Harry and Cedric were finally—FINALLY—alone in their compartment on the Hogwarts Express. Cedric turned from (once again) placing a complex web of privacy and warning charms on the compartment door to find his boyfriend ostensibly reading the_** Hogwarts Rules and Regulations appertaining to Lords and Heads of Houses.**_

"Oi, Lord Prat!" he snickered, putting his wand away and nudging Harry's leg.

Harry didn't bother looking up. "Oi, peasant. What do you want?" he said, glancing sideways at the larger boy.

Cedric caught the glance and grinned. Leaning back, he put his arms behind his head and said casually, "oh, nothing, nothing at all. Seeing as how you're busy reading and all, I think I'll just take a bit of a kip."

"Oh, that's fine then," Harry said neutrally. "Well, enjoy your nap." He kept on reading.

Working hard to suppress a grin, Cedric closed his eyes, settled himself more comfortably and waited.

Count of one.

Count of two.

Count of three.

Count of four.

Count of….

"GOTCHA!" Harry squealed, pouncing. The Gryffindor's fingers hooked into Cedric's sides, tickling furiously for a fraction of a second before the Hufflepuff could retaliate. Back and forth the battle raged until finally Harry managed to get the upper hand.

Straddling Cedric's waist, Harry had somehow managed to get both of Cedric's hands above his head, holding them there while he grinned down at his fiancé.

"Surrender!" he crowed; only to have to struggle to keep his hold as Cedric bucked.

"Never!" Cedric snickered, bucking again, this time almost throwing Harry off.

"Yes! You must!" Harry insisted, leaning down to drop a tiny kiss to the tip of Cedric's nose.

"Why should I?" Cedric grinned up at Harry, having just missed a chance to kiss him back.

"Because then I can demand my ransom payment," Harry smirked.

Cedric mock-frowned. "Alas, I am but a poor peasant, and cannot pay your ransom, Lord Prat," he said mournfully.

"Oh, well, then. I suppose there's not help for it; you'll just have to be my sex slave for all eternity," Harry's eyes flashed brightly at the thought.

"Oh, woe is me! What a horrible fate," Cedric snickered. "Sex slave to the most pervy Lord in the land! Whatever shall I do?"

"Hmmm…how about you start by giving your Lord a snog?" Harry asked, leaning forward once more.

"Oh, I see how it's going to be," Cedric whinged. "Always snogging the poor captive, never a moment for myself, never a mumfph…." His words were suddenly cut off by Harry's lips abruptly claiming his. Cedric found his hands free as Harry's fingers tangled in his hair, so Cedric brought both his arms down to wrap about Harry's lithe torso.

After a bit, they were forced to come up for air.

"So, how do you think you'll like this enslavement bit?" Harry asked softly.

"Oh, I don't know," Cedric husked. "I think you'll need to practice the snogging part of it at least twice a day, to start."

"I think I can manage that," Harry breathed, leaning in for another kiss.

And that was the last that was heard from that compartment for the rest of the journey to Hogsmeade Station.

* * *

Some time later, an exasperated Ronald Weasley stood outside that very compartment while Hermione Granger tried once again to break the spells which sealed it off from the outside world.

"Give it a rest, Hermione," Ron sighed. "You couldn't break into Harry and Cedric's compartment on the ride home last spring, and you won't be able to do it now."

"Quiet, Ron," Hermione snapped. "I'll have you know that I spent the summer reading, and one of the things I concentrated on was privacy and locking spells. It's just a question of analyzing the spell forces correctly, then picking them apart in the proper sequence."

"If you say so," Ron sighed, unconvinced. He slumped back against the wall, arms crossed across his chest.

"I do say so…and what's more, so does Cuthbertons's _**Advanced Personal Privacy Warding**_. I had Obscurus Books special-order me a copy just as soon as I returned home at the beginning of the summer." Biting her lower lip in concentration, Hermione moved her wand through a particularly complex pattern, only to draw back, disappointed. "I just don't understand it…that unlocking spell should have opened up at least the first three layers of charms, but it doesn't seem to be doing anything."

"Hermione, Cedric's had two more years of schooling than you, don't you think that he's learned a bit more than we have by now? And, don't forget, he was raised in a wizarding home, so he's been around locking spells all of his life."

Hermione wheeled on her long-suffering boyfriend, only too glad to have a ready target for her frustration. "See, Ron, it's that kind of attitude that I so despise in people like Malfoy. Just because I wasn't raised in a magical household doesn't mean that I'm not just as capable a witch as anyone else. It's only a matter of finding the right combination of dispelling and unlocking charms, and then I'll open this door and give Mr. Harry Potter a good piece of my mind!"

"Er, 'Mione…are you sure that would be a good idea?" Ron tried again, with a slightly different argument. He really didn't understand the whole 'two boys snogging thing'—never had, hopefully never would, to his way of thinking—but he still didn't think that two people, regardless of their genders, would appreciate being interrupted just to hear a Hermione lecture.

"Ron, we're Prefects! It's our job to ensure the safety of all of the students on this train. Until I'm satisfied that whatever happened earlier won't be repeated, I'm going to keep trying to open this door!" Tossing her hair, Hermione sniffed in a particularly self-righteous way. "Also, there's no telling what they're up to in there, and part of a Prefect's responsibility is to guard against acts of moral turpitude during the school term," she finished primly.

"So, you don't want them to be snogging on the train?" Ron asked, now confused.

"Honestly, Ron! If it were only snogging, I wouldn't mind so much," Hermione huffed, her tone making her words a lie. "It's whatever else they're doing in there, behind all of these charms, that worries me. And, there's always the effect on what the lowers will think—we certainly can't have them getting ideas, now can we?"

Knowing when it would be futile to say anything else (and for once, having the brains to shut it when he reached that point), Ron just sighed and slid down to sit on the floor, his back to the wall. "Just let me know if I can help," he muttered, certain that time would never come.

"Don't get too comfortable, this won't take long," Hermione said confidently, renewing her attack on the door. "Another five minutes more, if that," she finished, biting her lip once again.

* * *

Meanwhile, inside the compartment, the boys had shifted around so that Cedric was laying half-against the outer wall of the compartment, with Harry stretched out on the seat laying mostly on Cedric. Harry's head was tucked underneath Cedric's chin, and his back was to Cedric's front. They had been dozing like this for some time, content just to enjoy some quiet time together.

Harry shifted slightly, pulling Cedric's arm a bit closer around him. The motion brought a soft murmur to Cedric's lips.

"You know that Granger's trying to get in, don't you?" Cedric asked softly.

"Mmmm," Harry made an affirmative sound.

"Should I let her in, or just let her keep on wasting her time?" Cedric breathed into Harry's ear.

"Nnnnnn." This time, the sound was distinctly negative.

"Okay, then. And, don't worry…it'll take her longer to work out that particular sequence than we'll be on the train. We can have our nap without fear of a Gryffindor assault."

Harry made a sound that might have been 'good', before snuggling down a bit further. Since he was already quite comfortable, between his Harry-shaped blanket and the cushioning charm he had put on the compartment wall, all Cedric had to do was drop a kiss onto Harry's head before he also slipped into sleep.

And that was how they spent the remainder of their journey into Hogsmeade Station.

**A/N:** well, it's been a while, and for that I apologize. I've tried to make up for the wait with an extra-long (10K plus words) chapter. Thanks to all of you who reviewed (even those few of you who griped about something), because they kept me going when the Muse went walkabout.

To explain a commonly asked question: to 'Drink the Kool-Ade' is an expression that means 'to follow without questioning', implying blind devotion to a person or cause. It has its roots in the Jim Jones/Jonestown massacre (look it up), where several hundred people under the sway of a lunatic drank poisoned Kool-Ade as a means to mass suicide. In One Wizarding Summer, it's a joke that Sirius makes at Molly's expense, because Molly has well and truly drunk Dumbledore's Kool-Ade: i.e., she thinks that Dumbledore can do no wrong and he is ultimately correct about everything. It is never complimentary, and implies that the person in question has given up their own rational thoughts to be a blind follower, even to the point of killing themselves just of the say-so of a leader. You'll see a lot of that attitude later in this work, because Harry and Cedric will be fighting it frequently from all sides.

The next chapter is underway…hopefully, you'll not have to wait another six-plus months for it.

Oh, and the banners for the last two stories, created by the wonderful **OF SERENDIP**, are (finally) posted on my livejournal at twistyguru (dot) livejournal (dot) com. They're beautiful, check 'em out! Also, I'm going to post a sort-of challenge for a Twilight/HP/Anita Blake crossover that I'd really, really like to see done on the livejournal. I've got the silly thing, might as well start using it again….


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Back to the Castle, and the Sorting...

**Disclaimer:** same

**Chapter 3**

The Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade Station just as the sun was touching the horizon. Within minutes, the platform was swarmed with Hogwarts students and a smattering of others, mostly those few adults who lived in the Hogsmeade area and chose to take the Express up from London. Off to one side, Professor Grubbly-Plank held a lantern high, calling for the 'First years, over here, if you please'.

On the Hogwarts Express, Harry Potter and his boyfriend Cedric Diggory hung back, waiting for the initial rush onto the platform to subside before leaving the confines of the Express.

"Hullo, Harry!"

Hearing his name, Harry turned to see Neville Longbottom coming down the compartment way, his hand firmly held behind him (as best as Harry could see) by Hannah Abbott.

"Hullo, Hannah," Cedric called out, seeing his fellow Hufflepuff. "Hullo, Neville," he grinned.

"Oi, Neville," Harry grinned. "So, you've got your Hufflepuff and I've got mine…are we set?"

Neville grinned hugely while Hannah blushed. "Well, I'm not sure that I've 'got mine' the same way you've got yours, but yeah, I think we're ready to go."

Harry nodded back, then looked around him. "We were just waiting to make sure the coast was clear. Hermione spent half the trip trying to break into our compartment, and I'm really not in the mood for a lecture from her before we even get to the castle."

Neville nodded. "We figured as much. So, Hannah had the brilliant idea to have some of the firsties put on a distraction for us."

"It's amazing what small children can be talked into for a handful of chocolate frogs," Hannah smirked. "Especially when I told them that I'd get you to autograph any of your cards they got, Harry."

"Hannah Abbott, I am shocked! Shocked, I say! And you call yourself a Hufflepuff!" Cedric said in mock outrage, while Harry rolled his eyes. "So, what are the ickle firsties going to do to keep the Scourge of Gryffindor away from us until we can get into a carriage?"

"Remember Helga's second rule: keep it simple, simpleton," Hannah grinned. "Several of them are going to mob Hermione and claim homesickness, or tummy aches, or cover her up with silly questions until Grubbly-Plank takes them all to the boats. That should give us a few minutes, at least."

"That should do it," Cedric agreed. "So, how will they know which Prefect is Hermione?"

"Oh, that was the easy part," Neville laughed as Hannah grinned evilly. "We told them to look for the bushy-haired know-it-all, with the big stupid red-head beside her."

At Hannah's description of Hermione and Ron, both Harry and Cedric burst into laughter along with Neville.

"That ought to do it," Cedric managed to get out between laughs.

Harry didn't bother talking, but nodded in agreement.

"Well, be that as it may, I'd say it's time to go," Neville said, putting his head outside the train and glancing around. "Remember, straight to the carriages and in; the four of us should fill one nicely. Here we go!" he finished, pulling Hannah gently behind him and moving hastily for the row of waiting carriages, Harry and Cedric right behind him.

Sure enough, further down the platform there was a small knot of children surrounding Hermione and Ron, who were both looking extremely harassed and busy. The two Prefects were so busy; in fact, they completely missed the hurrying couples running for the carriages.

As they settled in to their carriage (and Cedric put a few simple locking charms on the doors to discourage busybodies), the four began laughing anew.

"Just remember, Harry," Hannah said smugly, "You need to be a sport and autograph any of the firstie's Harry Potter chocolate frog cards."

"Hannah, if that's all it costs me to miss a Hermione lecture, then it's cheap at the price," Harry grinned. "Of course, when Hermione finally catches up with me, I'll just tell her that you set up that little scene on the platform just now."

"You wouldn't!" Hannah laughed in mock-horror. "And you call yourself a Gryffindor," she continued, punching him lightly in the arm.

"Ow! Brutal woman! Neville, tell your Amazon to stop hitting me!" Harry whinged.

"Sorry, mate, you're on your own with her. She's too much for me to manage," Neville raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

"And don't you forget it, Longbottom," Hannah sniffed, and then wrapped Neville's arm in both of hers. "_Much_ too much for you to manage," she grinned happily.

"I blame the Sorting Hat, myself," Harry said sadly. "After all, it wanted to put me in Slytherin, but I told it 'no,' it had to be Gryffindor or nothing."

"Oh, really? And why was that?" Hannah asked, while Cedric turned his head away and smiled.

Harry's expression was one of complete and total innocence. "Well, I figured that it was the only way to hide the fact that I am, in fact, the Darkest Wizard in Training since Herpo the Foul. Had I been sorted into Slytherin, my secret would have been out inside of three months. As it is, everybody expects me to be this great 'Champion of the Light'," he went on, making the quotation marks with his fingers in the air. "Suckers," Harry finished, then snickered evilly.

Neville shook his head sadly. "It's true, you know. I've shared a bedroom with him for years now. Especially after he eats Shepherd's Pie, our Harry here is the foulest thing since, like, ever."

"Sadly, Neville's got the right of it. Farts like a blast-ended skrewt, he does," Cedric added, while Harry just shrugged and nodded.

Hannah, who had been staring at Harry with slowly growing horror, suddenly realized that she had just been royally had. "Oh, you three…" she cried out, then smacked all three boys in rapid succession. "Why any women would ever put up with a male is beyond me," she huffed, sliding minutely away from Neville and crossing her arms.

"Well, I certainly don't think Ced or I are the ones to ask about that," Harry smirked. "We could always stop and get Hermione to come explain what she sees in Ron, if you're that interested," he offered.

Hannah shuddered visibly. "No, thanks…I'll just do without, if it's all right with you."

"You're sure?" Harry asked.

"Oh yes, quite." Hannah huffed, then leaned back in the carriage seat. "So tell me, oh foul and stinky wizard, you and Ron the Brainless and the Bushy-Haired Wonder…how did that ever come about?"

Harry paused, his face becoming neutral as he thought. "Actually, Hannah, it just happened more or less by accident, I guess. Ron was the first person in the wizarding world who actually talked to me like I was a real person, and then after the troll incident that first Halloween, he and Hermione and I just sort of fell together."

"Hmm," Hannah muttered thoughtfully. "I suppose the fact that you'd never had any real friends explains a lot," she mused.

"Beg pardon?" Harry asked, somewhat coolly.

"Oh, I don't mean it in a bad way, Harry," Hannah soothed, leaning forward. "It's just…everybody knows that you three are the 'Golden Trio', but frankly most of us have wondered just why you put up with those two."

"Harry, it's true. By themselves, neither Ron nor Hermione would have any friends at all, they're so..." Neville shrugged, not being able to say what he really meant to his friend.

"Harry, love, I think what Neville and Hannah are trying to say is that your so-called 'closest friends' have done a great job of keeping you isolated from the rest of us for the past four years." Cedric squeezed Harry's hand reassuringly as he tried to clarify what the other two were saying. "I know that you find it hard to believe—and I blame those horrible Dursleys for your feeling that way—but you really are someone that the rest of us would like to be friends with. It's just been hard, ever since first year, to get to know you through the wall Ron and Hermione throw up around you."

"But they're my best friends," Harry said softly, looking at his feet.

"They were, yes," Cedric corrected. "But you've got others now—me, and Sirius, and Remus, and Mad-Eye, and Dr. Latour, and Little Jacque and Albert, and Fleur, and Gabrielle…."

"And me, and now Hannah," Neville chimed in, "and Seamus and Dean, I'm sure, now that we're going to pry you away from Ron and Hermione. Harry, there's a whole school of people who only know you as the Boy Who Lived, and who want a chance to get to know 'just Harry', like we do."

Harry didn't say anything. He just sat there, looking at the carriage floor until Hannah reached out and gently turned his head to face her.

"Harry, I realize that we don't know each other very well yet, but Neville has talked about you a lot this summer. I know how difficult it's been to get near you—believe me when I tell you that I tried, but Hermione and Ron are too good at pushing people away—so I'm really looking forward to being around you these next few weeks, without them around so much."

Harry looked into Hannah's eyes, his concern and confusion evident. "Are they…have they…was it really that hard to be my friend?" he asked, sounding hurt.

Neville shook his head. "Not because of you, Harry. Because of them, always jealous of you, pushing themselves between you and anyone else before you could get to know that other person."

"I never realized…" Harry started, then stopped, not knowing what to say.

Neville managed a small chuckle at Harry's cluelessness. "Of course you didn't, Harry…you just don't think in those terms, so it never occurred to you what they were doing. In their defense, I don't think it was something they did on purpose, either."

"No?" Harry asked, almost desperate for some explanation that wouldn't make his friends look any worse.

"No, I really think that they're like that because they've never really had any friends, either," Neville said quietly.

"Harry, I think Neville's right," Hannah said gently. "Think about it for a minute. Ron's always been overshadowed by his brothers, and Ginny the baby; being friends with you was probably his first experience with being special in any significant way. Hermione was probably the bookish, standoffish person she is now before she came to Hogwarts, so she probably didn't have any friends until you came along. For both of them, you're the closest thing to a 'real friend' either of them have ever had, and the fact that you carry them into the limelight with you only makes you that much more important to them."

"You make it sound like they've just been using me all this time," Harry growled.

"Well, they have been, in a way," Cedric said, putting his arm around a stiff, resisting Harry. "They probably haven't been doing it intentionally. In fact, I hope they haven't been doing it intentionally, because otherwise it makes them really horrible people. No, I suspect that they've just been doing what felt right to them, to protect what they had with you…and it just so happens that they were keeping you isolated from the rest of the world at the same time."

Harry didn't say anything. He just leaned back against Cedric and closed his eyes. Cedric, Neville and Hannah had a quick wordless conversation with their eyes, then Hannah and Neville leaned back together on their bench while Cedric pulled Harry closer to him. They spent the rest of their trip to the castle in silence.

* * *

Harry sat up just as the carriage jerked to a halt at the castle. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be such horrible company," he apologized.

"Harry, just stop right now," Hannah told him firmly. "You haven't done anything wrong, not to me or anyone I care about. You just need to know that from here on out, you don't have to rely on Ron and Hermione to be your only friends. There are literally dozens of us out here that want to get to know the 'real' Harry Potter, if you'll only come out to meet us."

Harry had the grace to blush. "Thanks, Hannah, I'll try," he said, giving her a small smile. "And thanks again for the help on the platform—send any new 'puffs with Harry Potter cards over to me tomorrow at breakfast, and I'll sign them."

Hannah grinned back at Harry. "You'd better, Potter," she mock-threatened. "Now, give me your boyfriend, and I'll trade you mine, and we can beat Granger and her boyfriend to our house tables."

"Done!" Harry laughed, as he and Hannah both ignored Neville's and Cedric's faux protests at being handed over like so much luggage. Harry and Neville were both laughing as they dashed to get good places at the Gryffindor table, then waved the Weasley twins, Dean and Seamus over to sit beside them.

When Ron and Hermione arrived a few minutes later, they found Harry and Neville in the center of a group of laughing Gryffindors…and oddly enough, the only seats left empty were at the far end of the table!

* * *

As always, the Great Hall was ablaze with light from the thousands of floating candles above the four house tables. The ghosts of Hogwarts were floating silvery dots in a sea of returning students, jostling and yelling out at each other as they settled themselves down for the sorting.

At the high table, Headmaster Dumbledore looked out over the familiar scene, his trademark twinkle and amused smile very firmly in place. With an ease born of long experience, he let his eyes sweep back and forth across the crowd of students, not stopping to watch any one group for more than a second or two.

Dumbledore had learned years ago to carefully watch how the returning students interacted with each other on their first night back at Hogwarts. For most of them, it had been several months since they had seen one another, and—teens being teens—there were the inevitable breakups and new relationships that had formed. Even those 'love you forever' bondings that had seemed so important just a handful of weeks earlier weren't immune to the effects of a summer spent abroad, of a month spent with some new handsome, exotic fellow or mysterious young lady. Here and there, inevitably, loving glances had been replaced by jilted glares; and the friends of both parties could be seen gathering into their various factions, preparing for war.

The Headmaster was relieved to notice that this year only two or three potential crisis seemed to be brewing, and he made a mental note to mention to his Heads of Houses which ex-couples to keep a special eye on. Not that he was especially worried—Minerva, Filius, Pomona and Severus were all quite capable in this regard; in fact, he noticed that all four of them were doing the same kind of assessment of the students that he himself had just done.

Thus reassured, the Headmaster turned his attention to more serious matters. At the Slytherin table, the mood overall was a bit less rambunctious than normal, with the children of likely Death Eaters showing several small signs of having been in frequent contact over the summer. Given Albus' knowledge of an increased number of 'social events' in pureblood circles over the summer it was hardly surprising, but still, it did not bode well.

The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were, as he expected, being their usual, dependable selves, no surprises there. Of course, being who and what they were, the students of these Houses had probably burned up reams of parchment corresponding with each other over the summer; Ravenclaws with essays about essays, Hufflepuffs with daily reports on the minutiae of their daily routines.

At the Gryffindor table, Dumbledore was a bit irked, but not terribly surprised to see Harry Potter sitting beside Neville Longbottom, surrounded by the Weasley twins and several other students. They were all apparently having a delightfully good time socializing together. Unfortunately, from the Headmaster's point of view, Potter had somehow managed to extricate himself from the clutches of his customary pair of escorts. Dumbledore mentally congratulated himself for that little piece of work. It had taken almost no effort at all on his part to create the 'Golden Trio', and for four years it had sufficed to keep Harry almost completely cut off from any significant friendships among his other peers. A slight nudge of compulsion here and there in their first year had been enough to push the three dysfunctional children together, and after that Granger's and the youngest Weasley boy's own personalities had taken over. Unfortunately, a summer spent with that blasted Cedric Diggory—not to mention his reprobate godfather—had given Harry Potter the kind of enjoyable summer the Headmaster had labored so mightily to prevent. Ah, well…it was all spilt pumpkin juice now; at any rate, the Potter boy was back here at Hogwarts, and Albus had little doubt in his own ability to re-isolate the boy within the confines of the Trio. Certainly the Weasley boy wouldn't object—without his ties to Potter he was basically worthless and knew it—and Granger was very firmly convinced that he, Albus Dumbledore, was to be trusted without question. Add to that Granger's own prickly personality and fear of being (once more) friendless and alone, and Dumbledore seriously doubted that he would have to do much of anything to allow the proper relationships around the Boy Who Lived to reassert themselves. Especially once Cedric Diggory was removed from the picture….

"Hem, hem…excuse me, Headmaster, but are they always so…disorderly?" Dumbledore's musings were interrupted by a piping, girlish voice coming from his right.

"Beg pardon, Madam Umbridge?" he asked the revolting toad woman. Of course, his expression didn't change as he leaned slightly towards her. No, the Ministry's latest attempt to meddle in the affairs of his school had no clue as to what he really thought of her.

"These children…I don't know when I've seen such a horrible lack of manners and deportment. Are they always so ill-behaved?" Umbridge wanted to know.

"Oh, I believe that this enthusiasm is merely the result of coming back together after so many weeks apart," the Headmaster said cheerfully. "For many of them, tonight is the first time they will have seen their friends since leaving here in the spring. Ah, to be that young again, and to have that much energy and _joi di vivre_," he said, leaning back.

Delores Umbridge merely sniffed her disapproval and straightened in her chair. If she noticed Pomona Sprout's look of thinly veiled contempt, she gave no sign of it.

"So, Delores…may I call you Delores? I understand that you're here with us from the Ministry. Tell me, what is your experience with children? Have you ever been a teacher?" the Professor of Herbology and Head of Hufflepuff House asked neutrally.

On Sprout's other side, Septima Vector heard Sprout's tone and looked over, alarmed. Usually when the soft-spoken Professor used that tone of voice some kind of unpleasantness was soon to follow. Of course, Professor Vector was none too pleased with the woman herself—whatever did she mean? Flooing directly into the Headmaster's office during their traditional pre-Sorting meeting without so much as a 'by your leave', then announcing that she was there from the Ministry to 'sort out their difficulties' at Hogwarts! Special Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic or not, there were ways to go about doing these things, forms to be followed, proprieties to be observed. Then, as if what she had already said and done wasn't enough, the Ministry hag had gone straight to Minerva's seat at the high table, disrupting all precedence and usual practice. Oh, there was going to be payment for that, without a doubt! Still, Septima found herself hoping that, just perhaps, said payment could at least wait until after the Sorting.

"Teacher? Oh, my, no! No, before being named as Senior Undersecretary to the Minister I toiled for some years in the Improper Use of Magic Office." Umbridge preened, completely oblivious to the reactions of the people around her. "Actually," she went on, leaning in towards Sprout a bit, "my most enjoyable years there were spent monitoring and then punishing those little urchins who violated the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. And, most recently, Cornelius…Minister Fudge, excuse me…had me working as his eyes and ears in the Dark Creature Control Office."

"Dark Creature Control…" Sprout gasped.

"Oh, yes…there in the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, you know," Umbridge squished her face into something that was probably intended to resemble a smile. "Mostly, we worked to keep the Dementors active around Azkaban, but there was always some rogue werewolf or vampire needing to be taken down, of course." She stopped, straightened her pink cardigan and spoke in a conspiratorial tone to the Herbology Professor. "I can't tell you how disappointed we were to just miss apprehending that Lupin fellow who was the Defense professor here two years ago. Another ten minutes and we would have had him!" She paused, sighed in obvious regret, and then continued. "So, in answer to your question, Pomona…may I call you Pomona? No, I'm certainly not a teacher, but I do have quite a bit of experience in dealing with children and other disruptive types." Once again trying to smile, to nauseating effect, Umbridge preened a bit then looked back out over the Hall. "And from the looks of it, my experience will be all too useful here in the days to come. Just look at that undisciplined rabble out there!"

"Hmm," Sprout made a noncommittal sound, and then turned away from the Special Undersecretary to raise one eyebrow at the Arithmancy instructor. Septima herself was too shocked to do much more than shrug at her colleague. Comparing students to dark creatures? Just what kind of maniac had the Ministry inflicted on them now?

* * *

At the Gryffindor table, similar thoughts were being tossed around like a quaffle.

Harry glanced up at the high table just enough to take in just who was sitting where, then quickly looked away before his interest could be noticed.

"Hey, you lot…don't look, but the horribly ugly woman in the pink sweater sitting to Dumble's right? The one that looks like a toad? No, don't stare at her," Harry said quickly. "Just a casual glance and then keep laughing with me," he said.

Fred and George both jerked their heads back around guiltily as Neville cut his eyes to the high table and back again, smiling.

"Circe's saggy tits…"

"…she's a horror, right enough. Who is…"

"…she and what…"

"…is she doing sitting in McGonagall's seat?" George finished for the twins.

"That's Delores Umbridge, and she's Fudge's creature," Harry hissed, then laughed out loud. "She was at my hearing this summer."

"So, old Fudge's sent a toady out to spy on doings here at dear old Hogwarts, eh?" Dean snickered.

"Literally…"

"Toady." The twins chimed in, both grinning like loons.

"I foresee many trials and tribulations…."

"…in her very near future," Fred said, as both twins shared a look.

Harry shrugged, then turned so that his face was away from the high table. "I don't doubt that she'll deserve anything and everything we can do to her, if she's that close to Fudge. Still, I want to know just exactly why she's here, both the official reason and the 'real' reason," he said.

"Agreed."

"Agreed."

"Of course," Neville nodded his own agreement with the twins. "And, if I could be so bold as to offer a suggestion?" he looked at the twins expectantly.

"Oh, yes!"

"Command us, oh Great Lord!" the twins laughed and salaamed vigorously.

"Ingrates," Neville said, grinning. "At any rate, I'd suggest that nothing be done for the first few days, until we can sort out the situation here. After all, there's no hurry, is there?"

"Neville's right," Harry added. "Let's not kick any ant hills before we know just why the Pink Menace is here. Also, did anybody else beside me notice that it was Grubbly-Plank and not Hagrid who collected the firsties at the platform?"

There were nods all around, and even a few glances to where the 'other' Care of Magical Creatures Professor was just taking her place at the table, but no one had any idea as to where Hagrid might be.

"I wonder if he's still off on that 'special mission' for Dumbledore," Harry wondered aloud.

"You mean, the one where he went to the giants?" Fred asked.

"Or the one where he went to France to try to seduce Madam Maxime to our side?" George smirked.

"Exactly," Neville grinned, only to be rewarded by vigorous thumps on the back from both twins.

"So, tell us, Neville…we know what's got our ickle Harry…"

"…all filled with pepper and vinegar, but what happened…"

"…to you over the summer…"

"…to make you such a devil-may-care lad?"

Glancing at Harry before he responded, Neville just gave smirked evilly. "Now, Fred, George, where would be the fun in telling all my secrets on the first night back, I ask you? Won't it be much more interesting for you two to have to find out by watching what happens?"

Both twins nodded sagely. "True, true." "Absolutely, old man."

"Right, you lot, shut it. Here comes McGonagall with the Sorting Hat."

Leading the ranks of frightened children, Minerva McGonagall entered the Great Hall carrying the stool on which the ancient headgear rested. Tattered and torn, oft-patched and ragged, the Hogwarts Sorting Hat was motionless until the Professor sat down the stool and stepped back.

In front of the hat, the ranks of first years stood, looking young and small. Most looked completely terrified, but were trying very hard to be brave. A few, here and there, were visibly trembling, and one little boy towards the edge looked as if he was about to start crying at any second. Harry and Neville exchanged glances, each remembering what it was like to stand there, about to face the unknown challenge that would sort them into their Houses.

For a long moment, nothing happened while the crowd waited, expectantly. Then, the Hat stirred, and seemed to take a deep breath.

"Well, well, well…what have we here? Time for another sorting, is it? So, shall I sing the customary song, or shall we just go straight to the troll wrestling?"

At the sound of the Hat's gravely voice, there was a gasp, and then a titter of laughter that ran through the Hall. For some unknown reason, none of the first years were laughing, but several did look like they were about to bolt for the door.

"Oh, come now! There'll be no troll wrestling tonight, I assure you!" The Hat went on. "No, children, regardless of what some of your older peers may have told you, the Sorting is completely painless. All you have to do is put me on your head so I can have a look inside, then I'll know where you need to be." The Hat chuckled gently, and it was that more than anything else which seemed to put the first years at ease.

"Now, ordinarily this is the part where I sing some little ditty about the four Houses—Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin—and what each is famous for. Well, this year I've decided to do things a little differently, and since this is my time, you lot will just have to sit there and take it!" The Hat huffed, then the rip in the brim opened wide in what could only be a grin.

"Don't worry, I know you're all famished, so I won't be long about it. Now, just so you'll know, each of the Founders Four valued certain traits more than others: Gryffindor, bravery, boldness and courage; Ravenclaw, intellect and the thirst for knowledge; Slytherin, cunning and ambition; Hufflepuff, loyalty, a sense of justice and a lack of fear of hard work. Of the four, it can be argued that Helga Hufflepuff was the least picky, as she was known to welcome into her House any student who was motivated to try to do their very best, regardless of their gifts. This has caused some people," and here the Hat seemed to be glaring at first the Slytherin, then the Ravenclaw tables, "to label Hufflepuff as the 'duffer House', but I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth. I tell you this," the Hat snorted, "with some degree of authority, since I'm the one who divvies you lot up in the first place."

By this time, whispers were heard from all over the Hall, and the Hat let them continue for a few moments before it went on in a loud, ringing voice.

"AS I WAS SAYING," the Hat boomed over the whispering, which immediately stopped. "Thank you. As I was saying, each of the four houses values certain traits above others, but somewhere along the way the idea developed that those traits were all that were required. I assure you, this was never the Founder's intention, especially when the school was opened. The Founders were all friends, and never would have dreamed of cutting their students off from the values and strengths of their fellows. Even after Salazar left, he continued to educate his students in the value of learning, the need to work hard, and even occasionally when to be bold and decisive. So, despite which House you wind up joining, don't forget that there are other things to be learned here which are just as important as your own House specialties."

The Hat paused, and a slight breeze seemed to blow through the Great Hall, causing the candles to flicker as they floated. "Don't think that Hogwarts and I are unaware of the circumstances you children find yourself in. For a thousand years we've been here, and neither of us is planning on going away any time soon. We've seen war, and peace, and every conceivable state in between. More people than I care to remember have come through these halls, and yet the halls themselves remain. Still and all, these are perilous times! We see the portents, and attend to the signs! Now, more than ever before in Hogwarts long history, the very existence of this school is threatened by forces more dark and sinister than most of you can imagine."

Once more, the Hat paused as if thinking, then sighed. "And so, my little performance tonight. Rather than a song that wouldn't stay in your heads past the first course of the feast that is to come, I wanted to have a word with all of you. I wanted to remind you that despite your Houses and your differences, you are all students at the same school. Each of the Houses brings something important to this school, and without all of you the school itself will crumble from within. So, take heed! Now is the time for you to unite to preserve what the Founders built. If you do not…." The Hat trailed off, leaving absolute silence in the Hall.

"If you do not, then I fear that Hogwarts' time may be drawing to a close."

For a long moment, no one moved. Then, the Hat stirred once more. "Professor McGonagall, if you would begin the Sorting…."

Giving herself the tiniest of shakes, the Deputy Headmistress raised the scroll of student names. "As I read your name, you will come forward and put the Hat on your head…."

* * *

"Abercrombie, Euan"

As the terrified little boy strode forward, Harry leaned over to whisper in Neville's ear. "Well, that was a bit different, wasn't it? I wonder if that's ever happened before?"

"Actually, no, not to my knowledge," Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, aka Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost leaned in to confide to the group. Harry and Neville both shuddered as Nick's cold body brushed their shoulders. "While the Hat has given advice and warnings to the school before, I can't ever recall it doing so in such a plain spoken way. Usually there's a verse or two in the song it sings, but nothing quite so blatant."

There was a pause while 'Abercrombie, Euan' was applauded over to the Gryffindor table, then one of the twins leaned back in to ask Nick a question.

"So, Nick…what's all this about how the Hat and Hogwarts know about our 'circumstances'. Do they have a subscription to the Prophet, or what?" he joked.

"Actually, something rather like that, I would imagine," Sir Nicholas laughed. "The Castle, like the Hat, is an ancient magical construct, and in some ways seems to have a type of awareness. Of course, there are the portraits, which are self-aware in their own right, and I would not be surprised if the Castle doesn't know—and understand, at least partially—what the portraits hear and see. How many of your classmates read the Prophet, and then discuss it on their way to classes or in your common rooms at night?"

"That would actually explain a lot," Harry mused, while everyone around him nodded with various thoughtful expressions on their faces. "Thanks, Nick," he said, as the ghost drifted off.

"My pleasure, Lord Potter," the ghost said, tipping his head. "Oh, and my congratulations, Lord Potter, Lord Longbottom, on your advancements; and a special congratulations on your betrothal, Lord Potter. I look forward to speaking with both of you more throughout the year. If I can be of service as you assume your new duties, please don't hesitate to send for me," he said, smiling and nodding as he drifted off to introduce himself to the newest Gryffindors.

As the ghost left them, Harry and Neville just stared at each other, gobsmacked. "How did…." "Did you hear…." Each began, then stopped.

"Harry, Neville, mates…."

"…didn't you hear what…"

"…the Hat said?"

"Hogwarts knows…."

"Definitely…Hogwarts knows…."

"It's magic, mates! Get used to it!"

* * *

By the time that 'Zeller, Rose' became the final Hufflepuff and Dumbledore had given a (mercifully short) 'Welcome back' speech, everyone at the Gryffindor table was famished. In short order, Harry and Neville were tearing into the feast like two starving men.

"Oi, look at our two Lords go! Lords of the Trenchers, they are," George laughed.

"Good thing they're both rich as Lords, otherwise they'll be starving within the week," Fred snickered, before bursting out in full-blown laughter when both Neville and Harry gave him two fingers.

"Oh, I'm wounded!"

"And from Lords of the Realm! Oh, the horror!"

"Oh, shut it, you two," Neville growled, then grinned while Harry just laughed.

"Still, I wonder just how much the Hat picks up, sitting up in Dumbledore's office all year 'round," Fred openly wondered.

"And, if it thinks that a stern talking too is going to make all four Houses cooperate, then it's gone completely mental," George offered.

All Harry and Neville could add to that were their nods of agreement, as they continued to work their way through the excellent food before them. As they ate, they barely noticed the clouds rolling in across the ceiling, until a bright flash of lightening lit the room. The crashing peal of thunder that followed heralded the onset of a vicious downpour that began to lash the castle windows. Except for the odd first years, the students and staff paid the storm no mind, confident of the ability of Hogwarts walls to resist the power of any storm.

Harry was just finishing off a large helping of treacle tart when Dumbledore stood once again.

"Well, now that we've enjoyed such an excellent feast, we can proceed with the usual start-of-term business," he began. "First, the first years should know that the Forbidden Forrest is out-of-bounds to students…a fact which several of the upper years might bear in mind, as well," he said, sweeping his eyes over where the twins and Harry sat, smirking.

"Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me for what I believe is the four hundred and sixty second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in the corridors between classes. There are a number of other things as well, which can be checked on the list which Mr. Filch has so helpfully posted on his office door."

"We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons. Also, there will a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, but I feel sure that for many of you this will not seem to be so much a change as a continuation…."

"Hem, hem."

Dumbledore broke off and looked to his side, where Delores Umbridge had risen to her feet and cleared her throat, clearly intending to make a speech. Dumbledore looked taken aback for a moment, then sat down smartly and looked alertly at the Ministry Undersecretary, giving the appearance of a man who desired nothing so much as to hear what the woman had to say.

"Thank you, Headmaster Dumbledore, for giving me this opportunity to address these wonderful children," Umbridge simpered in a high-pitched, little-girl voice.

"It is so lovely to be back here at Hogwarts, I must say," Umbridge went on in the same breathy voice. "And to see so many happy, smiling, friendly faces looking back at me."

Harry looked around the room, eventually making eye contact with Cedric, who had raised one eyebrow at the woman's statement. Neither of them could see anyone who looked terribly happy at the moment.

"I'll be her friend as long as I don't have to wear that horrible cardigan," came a whisper from Parvati to Lavender before both of them began giggling silently.

"Hem, hem. The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the wizarding community must be passed down the generations lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching."

With this, Umbridge paused and made a little bow to the staff members at the high table. When none of them made any gesture of acknowledgement whatsoever (except for McGonagall's stern narrowing of her eyes from her seat at the very end of the table), Umbridge 'hem hem'd' once more, then continued her address to the students.

"Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress' sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation must be struck and then preserved, for the betterment of us all."

Harry looked across the Hall at Cedric, who rolled his eyes and winked at his Gryffindor boyfriend while Umbridge continued to drone on. Harry grinned and winked back, cutting his eyes to left then right before miming falling asleep in boredom. The twins caught him, and immediately began making faces to accompany Umbridge's droning, secure in the knowledge that they were facing away from her.

"…some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited. With that in mind, and given Professor Dumbledore's difficulties in procuring a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for this year, Minister Fudge, in accordance with Ministry Decree #22, has sent me here to assume the post of…."

BOOM!

Umbridge was abruptly cut off—and the entire population of the hall jumped in surprise—as the doors to the Great Hall slammed open. There in the doorway stood a lone figure, water streaming from his cloak, his entrance lit by an especially brilliant flash of lightening.

"Sorry, I'm late…had summat to attend to, afore I could come up," Mad-Eye Moody said, trudging into the Hall, showering water to all sides as he tossed his cloak back from his head. The old auror looked to be soaked to the skin, and rather resembled a drowned rat. "Missed the Sorting and the Feast, didn't I? Well, bugger," the old auror spat, making his way towards the high table.

Dumbledore stood and addressed the man warmly. "Ah, Alastor…it's about time! Students, may I present the real Alastor Moody—our new Defense Against the Dark Professor."

"But…but…but…no, this can't be! I was sent here to be the new Defense Professor!" Umbridge stammered. "You weren't able to fill the position, so Cornelius sent me here to watch…er, to teach this year."

If Dumbledore noticed Umbridge's slip of the tongue, he didn't give any sign of it. Instead, he merely turned to her, eyes twinkling madly. "Oh, I'm afraid that there's been some mix-up here, Delores. Alastor agreed to fill the position two days ago. I'm certain that I must have sent an owl about it to the Ministry."

Umbridge turned a bright red, which really did nothing flattering to her face or her outfit. "No, that can't be! Ministry Decree 22 clearly states that…."

"Ministry Decree 22 only comes into play if the Headmaster can't fill a position. Albus did, I'm it," Moody cut her off. "Not my fault if you and Fudge didn't get the memo."

"I'm afraid Professor Moody is correct, Delores," Albus said soothingly. "Had I not been able to convince Alastor to provide us with a year of his services on such a short notice, then certainly the Ministry's assistance in filling out our teaching roster would have been greatly appreciated. As it is, I'm afraid that Decree #22 doesn't even come into it."

"But…you said you've already had the House Elves set up an office for my use, and I'm expected to spend the year here," Umbridge was visibly flailing for a way to save face and not be sent packing on her first day.

"I had rooms prepared for you after I received Cornelius' owl that you would be with us this year," Dumbledore said calmly. "I assumed that you and he would enlighten me as to the reason for your tenure here shortly, especially as his owl didn't mention that you were coming here as DADA professor." Dumbledore smiled genially, all the while laughing inside. Fudge had indeed neglected that little detail; no doubt assuming that Dumbledore would know why he was sending his creature to Hogwarts for a year. His owl had only instructed Dumbledore to prepare quarters and an office for Umbridge, as he was ordering her to Scotland for the school year. At the same time, Dumbledore had indeed written the owl to the Ministry about his hiring of Moody…pity it had been addressed to the Ministry's educational division and even now was probably buried deep in some secretary's in-box.

The soul of geniality, Dumbledore went on. "You are, of course, welcome here as long as the Minister feels that it's necessary for you to stay, Delores. Certainly the castle has the room, and feeding one more won't be a trial for the house elves."

"But whatever shall I do?" Umbridge asked carefully.

"Tell you what, Delores…I'll duel you for the job," Moody grinned evilly. "Best two of three, standard International dueling rules. Minnie, can you second me?" he called up to where the Deputy Headmistress was seated.

"Of course, Alastor," McGonagall smiled wickedly. "We can do this right now, if the Headmaster would like."

"Now, Minerva," the Headmaster chuckled. "I'm certain that Madam Umbridge won't take things that far," he said, seeing that the fat toad-woman was about to wet herself in fear. "Delores, I think you'd agree that an auror of Alastor's standing is more than qualified to teach the Defense course?"

"Certainly, of course," Umbridge stammered, trying to recover. "It's just that…last year…."

"Last year the little ones had that Dark imposter Crouch, Junior," Moody barked, then laughed. "I think it's high time they had a chance to experience the genuine article, don't you?" he asked the room at large. "Like the muggles say, there's nothing like the real thing!" At that, several cheers went up from a certain portion of the Gryffindor table, while scattered applause came from among the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.

There was scarcely any movement at all at the Slytherin table, aside from eyes looking sideways at a pale-faced Draco Malfoy.

"But you've been retired for several years now…and spent last year's term in the bottom of a trunk!" Umbridge rallied. "And…because of that, you can't possibly be aware of recent political happenings, or of the current situation in which we find ourselves…."

"Pfft!" Just as she seemed to be picking up steam, Mad-Eye interrupted Umbridge with a rude noise. "Merlin's warts, woman! I trained aurors for almost forty years, and I've fought more Dark wizards than you've got hair bows," he scoffed. "My offer to duel you still stands…ready, Minnie?" he called, looking at his old friend.

"Ready, Alastor," McGonagall sang out, standing and brushing her robes back with a flourish. "It's going to be bloody awful outside in this storm, you know."

"Can't be helped," Mad-Eye grinned. "Be a good training experience for the young'uns, teach 'em that battles don't always happen on bright sunny days. Help toughen 'em up, it will."

"Now, now, Alastor, Minerva," Dumbledore soothed. "I'm certain that Madam Umbridge didn't mean any offence with her statements. Surely we can resolve this without all of us having to traipse outside in this weather just to watch you two duel for the DADA position."

"I couldn't agree more!" Umbridge snapped. Before she could say anything else, however, Filius Flitwick hopped up into his chair, laughing out loud and clapping his hands in excitement.

"I offer myself as judge, Alastor! And, I assure you, we can provide you with an International Standard dueling strip here in the Great Hall in just a few minutes."

"Eh, where's the fun in that? Still, I accept you as a judge, Filius…how long has it been since you were on the dueling circuit? I remember seeing you back in the '70s, down in Norfolk…." Moody answered.

"Now see here, I refuse to duel with this…this…." Umbridge had had enough. "Fine! Take the job, and welcome to it!" She spun away from the table and stalked out of the Great Hall.

"Well, that certainly got me all excited for nothing," Mad-Eye shrugged, then went to join his fellow Professors at the high table. "Woman's nothing but a bloody great tease, she is…" he muttered as he passed Minerva McGonagall.

"Language, Alastor," the Deputy Headmistress laughed at him as he took the seat Umbridge had vacated.

"Well, now that that's all settled," Dumbledore smiled jovially. "Welcome, Alastor," he went on, nodding to the Auror that was now seated beside him. "And, now that the announcements have been made and the staff introduced, I think that it's time for us all to retire for the evening. We have a long and exciting day ahead of us tomorrow, and I'm sure…."

Whatever Dumbledore was sure of would never be known, because at that moment yet another figure stumbled into the doorway to the Great Hall.

"Albus! Hogsmeade…Death Eaters…attacking…." The tall, thin old man leaned heavily against the door, his long beard and hair a tangled mess, his glasses askew on his face.

"Aberforth! What's happening?" Dumbledore leaned forward earnestly while several of the other professors stood in alarm.

"The Death Eaters…they're attacking Hogsmeade, right now!" And with that, Aberforth Dumbledore collapsed to the floor of the Great Hall.

**A/N:** Nope, Harry can't see Thestrals, since he didn't see Cedric die in the graveyard (killing Dementors with a Patronus doesn't count, nor does a partial Kissing; obviously watching Quirrel's carcass disintegrate doesn't count either). While the origin of the two-fingered salute (analogous to 'the bird') is in doubt, the version I like best relates to the Battle of Agincourt in 1415. According to legend, the French (boo, hiss!) claimed that they would cut off the bow fingers of any English long bowmen they captured. Of course, the English won the battle, and the bowmen waved their first two fingers (used to nock and draw arrows) at the French in defiance. You can learn more by checking out Wikipedia under 'V Sign'. Yes, large parts of the Great Hall scene were lifted verbatim from Book #5, no copyright infringement is intended—I just couldn't do better than JKR, so why bother? This whole thing is an homage to her work, anyway.

For those of you who insist upon having a Sorting Hat song, just insert the one from **Kamerreon's** 'Sorting Hat Travesty' into the above chapter. Or, if you're interested in yet another view of our favorite Hat, I highly recommend **JBern's** 'The Lie I've Lived' (and also his original books, available at fine booksellers everywhere). And, when you review those excellent pieces (as I'm sure you will, HINT HINT), feel free to mention my name (HINT HINT).

Many, many thanks to The Sphenoid Critic for being my beta on this chapter. He already has the next chapter, so it should be up in a few days. In case you haven't noticed, Fanfiction has decided to remove almost all of the scene breaks from the various fics posted here. I'm trying to work around that, but have no clear solution as of yet. Hopefully the 'horizontal ruler' will be accepted by the site. I know, I know, it's annoying; I truly feel your pain (as I'd much rather read good stuff than write it, 'cause I'm a lazy bum). At some point between now and the time that the sun burns cold I'm going to have to pull EVERYTHING and re-divide it…but don't hold your breath.

Thanks to all of you for your kind reviews! I may not be able to respond to each and every one, but every one gets read.

**Next Chapter: ** is probably not going to be what you're thinking...


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** And here it is, much overdue. Sorry about that. This is unbeta'd, as my betas have rich and full lives (unlike mine), without the time to spare. Therefore, all mistakes are mine and mine alone. The next chapter will be up much sooner, I promise, as it is already finished.

Oh...NOBODY commented on the Hat's little lecture, not ONE SINGLE REVIEWER! I must not be trying hard enough...

**Chapter 4**

_ "Albus! Hogsmeade…Death Eaters…attacking…." The tall, thin old man leaned heavily against the door, his long beard and hair a tangled mess, his glasses askew on his face._

_ "Aberforth! What's happening?" Dumbledore leaned forward earnestly while several of the other professors stood in alarm._

_ "The Death Eaters…they're attacking Hogsmeade, right now!" And with that, Aberforth Dumbledore collapsed to the floor of the Great Hall. _

As Aberforth Dumbledore crumpled, pandemonium broke out in the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Cedric was moving towards the old wizard before he finished his second pronouncement, peripherally aware that at least some of his housemates were close behind him. A glance across the Great Hall showed that Harry was similarly leading a small pack of Gryffindors—he thought he saw Neville, the twins and at least one other boy—in the same direction.

Neither group stopped when a series of loud pops and bangs sounded from the high table, although (Cedric was glad to note), Harry's ducking reflex was the best in his group. Then, Cedric was kneeling beside the old man, having won the race only because Aberforth had been on the Hufflepuff side of the doors when he collapsed.

"Sir…sir! Can you tell us exactly what's happening in Hogsmeade?" he asked, carefully trying to move the old wizard into a more comfortable position while checking for wounds and hexes at the same time.

"Sodding great lot of Death Eaters, just apparated into the center of town," Aberforth wheezed. Cedric couldn't find any significant damage except for a burn to one shin. He did note that the man's robes smelled faintly of smoke.

"Do you know if the Ministry has been notified?" Harry asked urgently, dropping to his knees beside Cedric and doing his own scans of the man's body covertly, using his bracelets rather than pulling out a wand.

The old man shook his head. "No…I came here straight on," he wheezed.

"Here, drink this," Neville was there, holding out a cup. "It's just water," he reassured the old wizard, who took it eagerly.

By now, several of the Professors had managed to make their way down from the high table and to the doorway into the Great Hall, Poppy Pomphrey in the lead with Headmaster Dumbledore and Mad-Eye Moody close behind. With her customary efficiency, Poppy's wand was already out and sweeping across the stricken man's body while she was still several feet away from him.

"Mister Potter, Mister Longbottom, Mister Diggory, all of you, if you would step back so that I can get to him," she said briskly.

"We've just given him water, and he's got a minor burn to his right shin," Cedric reported, shifting a bit to give the school nurse more access.

"He doesn't seem to have any residual spell or hex damage," Harry put in, also moving back, pulling Neville and the rest of the Gryffindors with him. "He came here directly, and doesn't know if the Ministry's been notified or not."

Poppy nodded without looking up, intent on her work. Behind her, both the Headmaster and new DADA Professor noticed Cedric's and Harry's statements. Mad-Eye grinned—the boys delivered the essential facts quickly, without being asked, just as they should—while the Headmaster's eyes narrowed at the professionalism and competence they displayed. Also, Harry reported a magical damage assessment, but had not drawn a wand to use to make such an assessment. Intrigued, the Headmaster was nonetheless forced to put that thought away for later consideration by the press of events around him.

"Aberforth…It's me, Albus. What can you tell us?" he asked his brother, giving him a small push of compulsion with his magic.

Aberforth jerked in response, his head whipping around to the Headmaster. "I've already told you, sod it! Death Eaters, man, attacking Hogsmeade! I came here as soon as I saw them, to get help! There must have been two dozen of them, at least!"

"And did you notify the Ministry?" Dumbledore pressed.

Aberforth rolled his eyes. "Oh, certainly, I went and found the good parchment and wrote them a lovely letter, then had a bit of a stroll down to the owl post to send it off," he said sarcastically. "Of course not, you idiot! I came here because we need help now, not two weeks from now!"

The Headmaster drew back calmly. If his brother's sarcasm affected him, he didn't let it show in his demeanor.

"Alastor, please send your patronus to the Ministry to alert them immediately. I suspect they will believe you more readily than most other people, especially if you notify the Auror's office directly. As for the rest of us…."

"We're with you, Headmaster!" one of the twins yelled out.

"We're ready to fight the Death Eaters!" the other called, holding his wand aloft. A roar of agreement and raised wands from the uppers of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff answered them, while the Ravenclaws sat calmly waiting for instructions and the Slytherins looked like they desperately wanted to be somewhere, anywhere else.

While the chorus of shouts went back and forth, Harry and Cedric's eyes met. Cedric shook his head marginally, and Harry nodded his agreement once. This had all the trappings of a diversion, and they weren't all that keen to walk into it blindly.

"Boys, step back now so I can get Mr. Dumbledore to the infirmary," Poppy interrupted their silent conference as she rose and conjured a stretcher for the older man. "I think you for your quick response, and your accurate assessments," she said, looking at Harry directly. Then she winked, before briskly levitating stretcher and man out the door.

Harry grinned. Poppy had noticed that he hadn't used an obvious wand to assess the Headmaster's brother for spell damage, and her wink told him that she'd keep it to herself…for the time being. He had no doubt that at some time in the near future he'd find himself giving an accounting to the mediwitch, but at the moment they both realized that other matters were more important just now.

Cedric noticed the interaction between the two and sighed to himself. While he personally had always liked the school nurse, there were a number of issues that he intended to address with her at the earliest possible moment. Chief among these was the fact that she had never really addressed Harry's physical condition despite far, far too many chances to do so. Also, Cedric wanted to know just why the witch—usually so attentive to the medical and magical health status of the students—had allowed Harry to go for so long without removing the blocks on his magic. While the young Hufflepuff had his suspicions, he also knew that at some point, hopefully soon, he would be spending some 'quality time' with Poppy Pomphrey.

Cedric snapped back to reality when he noticed Harry offering him a hand up. Taking his boyfriend's hand, he rose gracefully to his feet. Around him, most of the Great Hall seemed to be caught up in arguing as to just how to best go about storming Hogsmeade. Feeling a tug on his hand, he allowed Harry to pull him just outside the doors to the Great Hall.

Once they were clear of the hubbub, Harry ducked around the corner and called out softly, "Dobby! Winky!"

Two soft pops announced the elf's arrival. "How can we serve Great Harry Potter sir?" Dobby squeaked.

"Dobby, I want you to go to Sirius. Tell him to notify the Aurors that Hogsmeade is under attack by Death Eaters, and they need help immediately. Then, tell him that we think this may be a ruse, and that I want him to stay at Grimmauld Place until he hears from us." Nodding to show that he understood Harry's urgent instructions, Dobby popped away.

"Winky, I want you to go to the Diggory's house. Tell them what's happening, and get them to Grimmauld Place as quickly as you can…and their house elves, too. Ask them to stay there with Sirius until we contact them. And Winky," Harry said, looking the little elf directly in the eye. "Don't let Sirius, or Remus, if he's there, leave until you hear from me. Understand?"

"Winky is understanding," the elf nodded. "Winky is keeping the families safe for Master Harry Potter sir and his Ceddy," she finished, then disappeared.

"Thanks, love," Cedric said, giving Harry's arm a squeeze. "I was going to call Mum and Dad and tell them the same thing, after I asked you about it," he said.

Harry shook his head. "You don't have to ask me about things like that, Cedric. Grimmauld Place is much more secure than Diggory House—for now; we should have already gotten the Goblins to upgrade your parent's wards—and I want them safe. Winky will take care of it for us, and she won't take 'no' for an answer," he finished, his smile a touch grim.

"You realize that she may ruffle a few feathers when she puts your godfather and my parents under lockdown, don't you?" Cedric grinned. He could already picture the scene that would play out when Sirius and Amos, especially, tried to leave Grimmauld Place.

"We'll deal with that later," Harry brushed that particular concern aside with a roll of his eyes.

"What is this 'we', Keemosabie?" Cedric smirked. "I had nothing to do with anything you just ordered your fanatically loyal house elves to do, so don't try to pull me into it."

"Coward," Harry smiled. "At least they'll be alive to yell at me," he shrugged. "Now, we need to get back," he said, moving back into the Great Hall. "You do have your cell phone with you, I hope," he said quietly just as they reentered the hall.

Cedric shook his head. "No, it's in my trunk. I never thought I'd need it tonight. Well, from now on, it stays with me at all times; yours, too, prat."

"Prat back. I agree, we both need them at all times…and we've got to see that Sirius, Remus and your parents all have their phones with them at all times, too." Harry answered grimly.

"Don't forget Mad-Eye," Cedric nodded. "I want to be able to contact a Professor directly in emergencies, and I don't think he'll have any complaints about carrying one."

Harry sighed. "No, and he'll probably start checking us at intervals to see that we've got ours, constant vigilance and all that. I'm wondering just how long we can wait before we have to give Madam Bones one as well."

Cedric snorted. "Not before tomorrow, but no later than next week, I'm thinking."

"I'm thinking you're probably right about that," Harry said absently, looking out over the Hall. No one seemed to have noticed their brief absence, for which they were both grateful. Of course, with the chaos going on in the Hall right now, Cedric rather doubted that a rampaging Hippogryph would have drawn very much notice.

Moving towards the center of the Hall, Harry and Cedric began working their way towards the center of the controversy, where the Headmaster, Deputy Headmistress, and most of the staff were arguing.

Professor Vector was yelling the loudest when the boys managed to get close to the inner ring of people.

"We have to go and help them! Odds are those mush-headed idiots at the Ministry won't believe any message we can get to them, and then they'll only send a three-man squad or two! That won't even begin to be enough, if this is a serious attack!"

"We cannot abandon the students to just the protections of the castle," McGonagall rebutted. "As much as I would like to rush to their aid, Septima, the adults in Hogsmeade should be capable of defending themselves until aurors can arrive from London. None of our children here, especially the younger years, can even hope to do that."

"But Hogwarts' wards…." Vector began, only to be cut off by Harry's raised voice.

"Won't stop another squad of Death Eaters from using the secret passages into the school," he said, using just a bit of magic to make himself heard. "Professor McGonagall is right—the lower years can't defend themselves, and this may be nothing more than a feint to draw most of the staff away." Harry pushed forward, no with everyone's attention. "The best thing we can do is notify the Ministry as quickly as possible, and then put the castle into lock down."

"Lad's got a point," Mad-Eye grated, while several other students and professors nodded. Still others were shaking their heads or looking uncertain, and one or two looked like they were about to continue arguing before the Headmaster brought the arguments to a close.

"Mr. Potter and Professor McGonagall are correct, I'm afraid. Now, students return to your seats, if you will. We will be counting heads directly, then activating the castle's full protections. Alastor, did you send your patronus off? Good, good," Dumbledore looked relieved when Moody nodded. "Minerva, I believe that a second message would not be amiss…would you floo a distress call to the Ministry from your office, then return here? Make sure they know that we will be closing down the wards, including all floo connections, for the duration of the emergency." Without even a nod, the Deputy Headmistress spun and began pushing her way through the crowd towards the staff door behind the high table. "Now, back to your seats, everyone…and Prefects, please count heads and noses, if you will."

With only minimal grumbling, the crowd began to sort itself out. Cedric was about to go back to his table when he felt a tug on his arm.

"Just where do you think you're going?" his boyfriend asked, looking him in the eye.

"Back to my table to be counted with my House, git," he grinned. "Then, I was planning on doing some slumming around the Gryffy table, if that's all right with you."

"See that you do…and invite Miss Abbott to come with, if she wants," Harry tossed his head towards where Neville was making goo-goo eyes across the Hall. "I suspect that we'll be spending the night here, so I see no reason for us not to spend that time talking with people we actually like."

"Agreed," Cedric said, and went back to his own table.

* * *

As Harry predicted, the Headmaster announced that all of the students would be staying in the Great Hall that night for security reasons. Within minutes the tables had been pushed to the sides of the Hall and the faculty had transfigured or conjured enough sleeping bags for all of the students. There was a bit of confusion as arrangements were made to allow everyone a bathroom break, but there were enough staff of both sexes to provide a pair of Professors guarding the routes too and from the nearest loos for a steady flow of people back and forth. Before too long, everything was in hand and people were beginning to settle down for the evening.

McGonagall had just passed through the Hall announcing that they would all be awakened at seven in the morning for breakfast, that classes for the next day would not begin until after the noon meal and that all lights were to be extinguished in one hour (since several people were still needing the facilities) when a hurried conference was convened in one corner of the Hall.

Harry had made certain to stake out a corner of the Hall just to the right of the entrance, and a number of people had clustered around him. Of course, a bit of strategic rearrangement had taken place so that the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff first years were actually in the corner itself, with Harry and Cedric nearest the doors. The two Triwizard champions were backed up by Neville and the twins, while Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones and a good selection of upper year Gryffs and 'Puffs claimed spots between the firsties and any fire lanes that might develop if the Hall were invaded during the night. Seeing what they had done, a few of the Ravenclaw Prefects quickly set up a mirror-image arrangement around their own firsties on the opposite side of the Hall, and several times Harry and Cedric received nods of thanks as the Ravens settled the youngsters into their 'nest'. Further down the wall from the Ravenclaws, the Slytherins seemed to be forming some amorphous pattern that was probably based upon the 'every man for himself' theory of defense. While Harry felt a brief twinge at the relative openness of the Slytherin first years, he rationalized that they were at least closest to the platform where the teachers were preparing to keep watch through the night.

"I still think we should have gone to help defend Hogsmeade," Seamus complained in a harsh whisper. "We could have helped!"

Several people around him snorted, but Cedric was the first to actually say anything in reply. "Help the Death Eaters rack up a higher score, maybe," his soft voice cut through the background whispers and other sounds. "Look, I know we all want to help," he went on as heads nodded all around him, "but let's face it—we're still just partially-trained kids for the most part, myself and Harry included." He carefully didn't look at either Harry or Neville as the little white lie came out. "Whoever the Dark Lord sent to attack Hogsmeade tonight are adult wizards with lots of experience in combat magic. Regardless of year, none of us," again he mentally crossed his fingers at the lie, "are up to facing people with that much more experience than we have."

"Well, when can we start getting ready to face wizards like that?" a whisper came from somewhere in the group, from where Cedric couldn't tell.

"Not here, that's for bloody well sure," came another harsh whisper, which drew nods all around. "We're spending all our time learning to change turtles into teacups, sodding lot of good that'll do us in a fight with Death Eaters."

"Language! Who said that," Hermione barked out, walking by. When no one answered, she gave the entire cluster the evil eye. "You should all be getting ready for bed, not sitting here stirring up trouble," she went on, looking directly at Harry.

"I'm still waiting for a chance to go to the loo," Susan Bones piped up, pulling Hermione's attention to her. "Unless you can make some of these camels pee faster, there's nothing more I can do except wait like this," she smiled evilly, while a titter of giggles rose up, making Hermione turn red with irritation. "Besides, it's not like all of us can sneak off to the Prefect's bathroom, now is it?" Susan added sweetly.

Since Hermione had already done just that—telling Ron that she just couldn't wait—there wasn't much she could say. Spinning on her heel, she stalked off, ignoring the uncomplimentary whispers that followed her departure.

Harry shook his head. "Poor Hermione…has she always been like that?"

"'Fraid so, Harry," Seamus grinned. "It's just that you were so far under her skirt that you never noticed before."

"You and Ron, both," Dean snickered. "Which, all things considered, was a really strange place for you to be," he winked at Cedric, who smirked back and slid just a bit closer to Harry.

"At least Harry had the sense to crawl out and join us in the real world…."

"…unlike ickle Ronnikins, poor buggar," the twins gave their opinion.

"All right, enough! Evil gits, the lot of you," Harry groused. Then, spying a small group returning to the Hall, he popped up. "Come on, Susan, here's your chance," he said, offering her a hand up. "We'll go together, while Neville and Cedric look after these lumps."

Smiling, Susan took Harry's hand and stood gracefully. "About time," she said, carefully stepping over several various body parts. Once in the clear, she tucked Harry's hand in her arm and led him from the Great Hall.

"Thanks, I was about to pop," she said in a low voice once they were out of hearing range.

"No problem," Harry smiled back. "Me, too."

The pair split up when they reached Professor Flitwick, who was standing guard outside of the loos. Nodding to the diminutive Charms Professor, each of them went into the appropriate bathroom.

Harry quickly checked the boy's room to make sure that it was clear, then went into a stall and shut the door behind him. Waving his hand, he put up a series of privacy charms—notice-me-not, aversion and silencing—then whispered "Dobby!"

With a 'pop', Dobby appeared inside the stall, which was suddenly rather cramped with both of them. "Master Harry Potter Sir is being calling Dobby?" he asked in his high-pitched voice.

"Yes, Dobby," Harry smiled. "I just wanted you to let the family know that we're all fine, and are camping out in the Great Hall tonight. How are things at home?"

Dobby grinned toothily. "Masters Paddyfoot and Moony are being not very happy with Master Harry Potter sir right now, since Winky is keeping them all safe and not letting them come running to see about Master Harry Potter Sir and his Ceddy. Mistress Ceddy's Mum Anna is telling Dobby to be telling both Master Harry Potter Sir and his Ceddy not to worry about them, they are fine at Master Paddyfoot's house and will stay until morning. Oh, and Master Moony said Dobby is to be giving you this," the elf finished, pulling out a small mirror and passing it to Harry.

"What the..? Oh, I see," Harry said, looking into the mirror and concentrating. "Remus, Sirius, are you there?" he asked quietly.

"Harry! Are you all right?" Remus' face swam into view in the mirror. "What's happening there? Do you need for Dobby and Winky to bring people back here for safety?"

"Calm down, Remus, we're fine," Harry reassured his almost-godfather. "Dumbledore and the Professors have all of the students bedding down in the Great Hall, and the castle is on lockdown. We're fine. Now, how are things in London? Did Sirius get a message off to the Aurors?"

"Amos and Anna and their elves are here, and Sirius is about to go spare," Remus sighed his relief. "Yes, Sirius was on the floo to the DMLE right after Dobby passed on your message, and they seemed to believe him without too much difficulty. Winky is being even more of a terror than usual, and has Grimmauld Place itself locked up tighter than a goblin's purse. She said she wasn't going to let any of us out, or anyone else in, without a direct order from you." He shook his head, amused. "Harry, that's some elf you have there."

"Don't I know it. Look, I snuck off to the loo to call Dobby, so I have to get back. I'll keep this mirror with me, so we can stay in contact, but I don't think we should be using it except in emergencies."

"Agreed. We tried you on your celly phones, but…."

"But like idiots, we left them in our trunks," Harry made a rueful grimace. "That's something we're going to have to fix, come morning. I'm just glad that you thought to send Dobby with this mirror, instead."

"So am I, Harry. Now, run along, and call us if you need us," Remus smiled as he faded from view.

Harry sighed, reassured. "Thanks, Dobby, you're the best," he said, grinning down at his little friend. "Now, go tell Winky to keep up the good work, and I'll call you once we know it's clear. It may be tomorrow morning before we know anything, though," he warned.

Dobby nodded, then disappeared, leaving Harry alone. Quickly taking care of his needs, he rushed back into the corridor to find Susan chatting with Flitwick about whether or not classes would be cancelled the next day.

Suddenly, an idea struck Harry, and he paused in front of his Charms professor. "Professor Flitwick, you know the charm that allows two mirrors to be used to talk back and forth, don't you?" he asked excitedly.

"Actually, Mr. Potter, that requires a small set of charms, but yes. Why do you ask?" the small man replied.

"Well, it just occurs to me…the muggles have things called satellites that can take pictures from high above the earth. If we had two mirrors, and one was charmed to float above Hogsmeade, couldn't we see what was happening in the other mirror? Or do the charms not work that way?" Harry asked.

Filius Flitwick was about to answer, then stopped, cocked his head to one side and thought carefully about what he had just been asked.

"I…believe that it could be done, Mr. Potter," he said slowly. Then, more rapidly, "yes, I do believe that it could be done…and rather easily. Of course, the problem would be how to keep the first mirror focused on the area of interest, but that could almost certainly be done from one of the towers. Assuming, of course, that you could keep the floating mirror in view during that time."

"Professor, I have a pair of omnioculars in my trunk, if that would work," Harry volunteered, smiling.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter, but I have my own pair that should suffice," Professor Flitwick smiled broadly. "Now, come along, both of you…we need to discuss this with the Headmaster immediately. And, take 10 points for Gryffindor for such an innovative idea!"

* * *

With an excited Flitwick leading the way, Harry and Susan returned to the Great Hall. Harry left Susan to return to her place in the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff area, catching Cedric up with his eyes as he followed Flitwick to where the Charms Professor was engaging in an excited conversation with Professors Dumbledore and Vector.

Cedric caught up with Harry just in time to catch the very end of a comment Vector was making.

"…and as long as the area ratio between the two surfaces remains less than five to one, I should think that any magnification effects would work normally." Septima Vector bit her lower lip in thought. "The break point should be somewhere between five and a half and six, but I'd have to plot out the matrices to be any more precise than that."

"I'm certain that we can keep the mirror sizes within a five-fold difference," Flitwick nodded vigorously. "What worries me most is that we might have to use transfigured mirrors. I don't know that we have the time to search the castle for two mirrors of similar construction, of the proper sizes."

"Aside from not being as durable as constructed mirrors, I really don't think that a high-quality transfiguration product will affect the quality of the images," Vector shook her head. "Certainly, it should last through the night."

Dumbledore nodded his head as his faculty applied themselves to the problem. "Transfiguring two mirrors won't be a problem; either Minerva or I can manage that easily enough. And, we can always transfigure another set at need. What concerns me is placing the first mirror, then controlling it once it is in place."

"Placing the first mirror shouldn't be a problem at all. I can either levitate it into position—that will take a few minutes, but shouldn't be difficult, using omnioculars—or someone on a broom can carry it into position."

From behind Flitwick, Severus Snape added his comment to this last. "Somehow, Filius, I doubt that the Death Eaters would take kindly to someone watching their fun from overhead," he sneered.

"Actually, Severus, I doubt very much that this particular discussion concerns you," Flitwick half-turned and looked up. He purely despised being 'talked over' like the Slytherin Head of House had just done. "What we're discussing here is just a bit of 'foolish wand waving', not something that can be bottled, stoppered, or distilled into a tonic. Not at all your area of expertise, is it?" he asked coldly.

"I'm afraid Filius is correct, Severus," Vector's smile didn't reach her eyes. "So, if you don't mind, why don't you just bugger off and let us work a bit of real magic here, eh? I promise you, if we need any ingredients chopped or diced for omelets, we'll call you…or a house elf," she finished snidely. "Won't we, Filius?"

"Oh, absolutely, Septima, absolutely…although, for the life of me, I can't imagine that we'd need any potions brewed for what is clearly a problem of adapting several charms to work in a novel way," Filius agreed, smiling as well. Apparently, his goblin forbearer had passed down some of a goblin's ability to smile in a frightening way.

Snape blanched at hearing his own words flung back at him—his introduction to his first class of new students rarely changed from year to year, and could hardly be considered a great secret—then went beet red as both Flitwick and Vector brushed him off—house elf, indeed!—before whirling to stalk away.

Dumbledore controlled his face with some effort. He did so love his little games, and maintaining a constant state of friction between his various staff members was one of the more enjoyable of those games. And, quite frankly, seeing the self-absorbed Potions Master so thoroughly skewered by two of his colleagues was a treat he very rarely was able to experience first hand. Still, his position demanded some mitigating response, at the very least.

"Now Filius, Septima…I'm sure that Professor Snape was only trying to be of assistance," he said lightly.

Vector's only response was to sniff dismissively, while Flitwick merely shrugged. "Perhaps," he acknowledged, "but then again, perhaps not. Rumors to the contrary, Severus Snape is not the only competent wizard at this institution," the part-goblin said firmly.

"I have never doubted it," Dumbledore said, then changed the subject firmly. "At any rate, have you considered where the best spot in the castle to set up this little experiment might be?"

"Probably the Astronomy tower," Flitwick said. "It will be the tower most likely to have the best view of Hogsmeade."

"Very well. Shall we adjourn to the Astronomy tower, then?" the Headmaster asked.

"Headmaster, since this was Mr. Potter's idea, I believe that he should accompany us, don't you?" Flitwick said. By his tone, it wasn't really a question. "Also, given Mr. Diggory's interest in Charms, I think this would be an excellent opportunity for him to see an innovative use of spell work like this. Mr. Potter, Mr. Diggory, I will see you in the Astronomy tower shortly, after I fetch my omnioculars from my quarters." Without waiting for an answer, the tiny Charms professor whirled and darted away.

"I've got my own set of omnioculars, and it can't hurt to have a spare set," Vector said. "I'll see all of you in the tower, then," she said, smiling at Harry and Cedric before nodding to the Headmaster and striding off.

Albus stood there, not truly happy with including Harry and Cedric but not able to think of any effective way to prevent their coming. Any argument that he might have raised would have been obviously flimsy and easily brushed aside by two of his brightest teachers. Inwardly, he sighed, then turned to see a smiling Harry and Cedric standing there looking at him as if daring him to use legilimency on them.

"Well, Mr. Diggory, Mr. Potter, it seems as though you will be joining us in the Astronomy tower, then. Just let me tell Professor McGonagall where we shall be going, and we'll all go together, for safety's sake," he said.

He was quite aware that his statement about 'safety' caused both boys' eyebrows to arch, but chose not to make any response.

* * *

The Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is, somewhat surprisingly, not the tallest of all the castle's towers.

Located more or less above the main entrance to the castle, the tower is easily distinguished from the other towers not only by virtue of its placement, but also by the fact that it is the only tower having a flat roof. It is on this roof, surrounded by a crenellated parapet, that legions of students have been introduced to the wonders and mysteries of astronomy during their years at Hogwarts.

Interestingly enough, it is on the floors below, where a huge, two-story orrery dominates the second and third floors below the roof, that many of those same legions of students have been introduced to the wonders and mysteries of love and romance. The study niches around the walls of the orrery room are known to be prime snogging spots, especially during the fall and spring months when the weather is not so cold.

The walls of the orrery chamber are partially open to the ramparts that surround the tower on both levels, having four large openings separated by supporting walls. As the walls and openings are roughly the same size, and the openings themselves are protected by the overhanging ramparts of the floor (or roof) above, the orrery itself is well protected from the elements. Of course, the precipitation- and wind-blocking charms on the tower don't hurt, but these charms don't keep the temperature of the rooms from being rather chilly during the long Scottish winters.

For centuries, the staff of Hogwarts has known that one of the surest signs of the onset of puberty is a sudden interest in the ability to shrink and enlarge a standard-issue Hogwarts blanket, for ease of portability to and from the Astronomy tower.

After what seemed to Harry and Cedric like a very leisurely stroll to the Astronomy tower, the Headmaster and the boys arrived to find Professors Vector and Flitwick standing in the upper orrery room, looking over a pair of shields that looked to have been 'liberated' from two suits of armor in the hallways. Outside, the storm continued to rage, lashing the castle with gusts of wind and sheets of rains—which fortunately, were kept well away from the group by the tower's magic.

"Ah, Albus, there you are," Professor Flitwick said cheerfully. "Septima and I were just talking about using these as starting materials for the transfigured mirrors."

"It occurred to me as I passed one of the armor sets in the hall that a shield like this would make an ideal base component, so I nicked this pair," Professor Vector said, smiling.

The Headmaster returned her smile, eyes twinkling. "I was actually thinking of using large serving trays from the kitchens, but these are also an excellent choice, my dear Septima," he said. "Filius, I'm assuming that you would like the shields transfigured into mirrors before anything else is done, correct?"

"If you would be so kind, Albus, yes," Flitwick agreed. Gently, he laid his shield on the floor and stepped back while Vector did the same with hers.

The Headmaster produced his wand and made a series of looping passes over first one, then the other shied. When he was finished, two large oval mirrors lay on the tower floor.

Professor Flitwick looked at the two mirrors carefully before nodding to himself. Humming to himself, he reached into his robe and brought out a small blue vial and an evaporating dish. Grinning, he looked up at the others around him a bit sheepishly. "I suppose that this almost merits an apology to Severus, but I realized that I could save a bit of time and trouble by using enchanting oil rather than charming the mirrors themselves."

"I won't tell if you won't," Septima said wryly, then snickered as Dumbledore very pointedly looked out at the storm.

"My, such dreadful weather we're having tonight," he commented, taking a step or two away from the rest of the group.

Seeing Cedric nodding in understanding but Harry standing there looking confused, Professor Flitwick decided to get in a bit of teaching. "Mr. Diggory, care to explain to Mr. Potter what we're about to do?"

"Of course, sir," the Hufflepuff answered. Turning to his fiancé, Cedric spoke softly. "What Professor Flitwick's going to do is put a thin coating of oil on both mirrors, then charm the oil to convey the images that are reflected by the mirrors."

"Uh…okay?" Harry said, still obviously not understanding.

"I could certainly charm the two mirrors to be linked one to the other, Mr. Potter, but that would take several complicated charms and is moderately difficult without specially prepared mirrors. So, instead I'm going to use a shortcut, by drawing on the Laws of Identity and Contagion."

"Oh, I see…I think," Harry said, trying to work it out in his head. The Law of Identity—everything that exists has a specific nature—and the Law of Contagion—once in contact, always in contact—were two of the basic Laws of Magic that governed the states and changes of magical effects. They also formed, with the other Laws, the foundations on which most of the Hogwarts curriculums were based.

"In this particular instance, since this oil is all from the same vial it will be very easy to link the two mirrors together magically," Flitwick continued to talk as he worked. Carefully he decanted a small amount of oil into the evaporating dish before handing the flask off to Cedric to reseal. Then, using the tip of his wand, he stirred the oil gently while muttering softly. There was a muted flash of blue light, which made the small man nod, satisfied. Turning, he poured a bit of the oil over each mirror, then waved his wand over each one to disperse the oil evenly. Finally, he made a series of passes back and forth over each mirror.

Harry thought he recognized a sticking charm, but that was all. "Sticking charm, Professor?" he asked.

Flitwick favored him with a smile. "Very good, Mr. Potter, very good. Mr. Diggory, did you perhaps recognize what else I cast?"

Cedric grinned. He was so proud of Harry, whom he knew in days past would have just stood there, saying nothing. Harry's willingness to speak up was one more sign to Cedric that his boyfriend was becoming more and more comfortable asserting himself, rather than passively accept what was happening around him. Cedric was so pleased, in fact, that he almost missed the professor's question.

"Uh, er…sorry sir," he stammered, then muttered "quit it, git" when Harry elbowed him and giggled. "I think…that you used a planar surfacing charm to disperse the oil evenly, then the sticking charm to hold it in place." Cedric paused, thinking furiously.

"Very good, go on," Flitwick smiled encouragingly.

"I'm not sure about the rest, but it looked like you were creating some sort of linkage, almost like magical chaining, between the two mirrors," Cedric finished. Certainly he hadn't recognized anything more in what the diminutive professor had done.

"Well done, Mr. Diggory! Very well done," Flitwick grinned. "I wouldn't expect you to know the precise charms I just used—yet, that is," and for a moment his grin had just a touch of goblin, "but that's exactly what I have done. By linking the two oils, and adding a small variation on a standard vision charm, anything reflected by the first mirror will be shown in the second mirror, just as Mr. Potter initially described to me. Now, I think we're about ready to begin our little experiment, don't you?" he asked, in what was clearly a rhetorical question. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Diggory, if you would be so kind as to pick up both mirrors and bring them over here," he continued, walking to the room opening that looked out towards Hogsmeade.

On a clear night, Hogsmeade would have been easily visible from this particular vantage point, its lights burning cheerfully in the distance. However, Cedric found himself seeing nothing but storm as he looked out, with perhaps a glimmer of light from time to time winking in the blackness.

Flitwick stopped well back from the line where rain was splashing onto the ramparts and conjured himself a small chair, followed immediately by a three-legged brass stand, and then a brass device for his chair. The reason for the stand became immediately obvious as he mounted his omnioculars on the stand and then adjusted it to be at head-height when he was seated. Adjusting his robes and making himself comfortable on the chair, he brought the brass armrest (Harry and Cedric immediately saw that was what the device was) around and adjusted it as well, so that his wand arm would be supported pointing out towards Hogsmeade. Once he had this done, he looked to his side, where Professor Vector was standing, smiling.

"An arm rest, Filius? You realize that is cheating, now, don't you?" she asked lightly.

"Sadly, yes, my dear," Flitwick grinned back. "Since we have no idea how long this will take, and I'm not as young as I used to be, I supposed that I'll just have to live with your disappointment in me." He sighed, dramatically. "However will I survive?" he said, his tone so desolate and bereft that Harry and Cedric both turned away to cover their own laughs.

Septima Vector merely rolled her eyes and smacked the small man lightly on the back of his head. "Cheeky," she quipped, then conjured a brass mirror stand to her friend's right. "Put the other one here, I suppose?" she asked.

Flitwick looked at the stand, then through the omnioculars, then back at the stand. "Move it a bit forward if you will," he said. The legs of the stand grated loudly on the rocks as Vector did as he asked. "Perfect," Flitwick nodded, satisfied. "Now, Mr. Potter, if you will, put your mirror on that stand. Mr. Diggory, if you will bring your mirror here," he asked. Then, he paused and looked around.

"Are we ready to begin?" Looking around, the Charms professor saw only nodding heads and agreement. "Very well, then. Mr. Diggory, please hold your mirror steady, but be prepared to let go once I have it," he said. Then, taking a steadying breath, he raised his wand and gave a swish, then a flick.

_"Wingardium Leviosa!"_

* * *

In the Hogwarts Great Hall, Severus Snape looked out over the students in their sleeping bags and scowled, thinking.

_"My Lord, if I might offer a suggestion…."_

_ "Yes, Severus?" Voldemort asked gently, which put Snape even more on his guard. The Dark Lord was at his most dangerous when he sounded calm and reasonable._

_ "If I may be certain as to your goals for this gesture?" Snape asked carefully. When Voldemort merely nodded, Snape paused for the briefest second, obviously composing his thoughts, before he continued._

_ "From your statements just now, you wish to strike a blow against the muggle-lovers that will both humiliate the Ministry and distress Albus Dumbledore in a very personal way." Snape paused, expectantly._

_ "Obviously," Voldemort replied._

_ "At the same time, my Lord, it would seem to be advantageous at this particular time to do so in a way which provides the Ministry a plausible excuse for their continued denial that you have indeed returned. As we have discussed, this allows us to continue working behind the scenes to stymie their efforts to ready themselves for your glorious return to the public eye."_

_ Once again, Voldemort nodded his agreement. Snape took another fortifying breath, then pressed on._

_ "That being said, my Lord, I would recommend that a target be chosen which will have a significant impact upon the populace—which can then be used to cast aspersions on the competence of the Minister and his buffoons—as well as being near and dear to the heart of our 'beloved' Headmaster." At Snape's dry tone, a snicker ran through the assembled Death Eaters. Even Voldemort himself felt the beginnings of a smile twitching at the corners of the slit in his face that passed for a mouth._

_ "And do you have such a target in mind, my dear Severus?" he asked._

_ "Of course, my Lord," Severus replied, then paused for dramatic effect. Just as Voldemort was about to become irritated at him, he said quietly, "the village of Hogsmeade."_

_ Snape's suggestion had ripped through the Death Eaters like wildfire. Even Voldemort himself had been impressed with how well Severus' idea fit the gesture he wanted to make. As the only purely wizarding village in Great Britain, Hogsmeade held a special place in the hearts and minds of the entire magical populace of the Island. An attack there could not help but rattle the people to their cores. And, with no regular Auror force being stationed there, the possibility existed for a complete decimation of the village with little or no risk of losses. It would literally be a strike under the very nose of the Headmaster and his precious Order, and the press would have a field day savaging the Ministry for failing to protect the populace. Not only that, but in the rebuilding there would undoubtedly be ample examples of corruption and incompetence from the Ministry for the press to continually find and expose (even if some of it had to be created by the Dark Lord's agents), further weakening the reputation of the Ministry._

_ In short, it had all of the advantages of the destruction of the Hogwarts Express, with none of the disadvantages._

_ Voldemort could not help but be impressed…but, knowing that he needed to keep up appearances, he very carefully did not show it._

_ "Very well, Severus, I agree with your suggestion. Well done. Now, as to the execution of your plan," was all that the Dark Lord had said, before foisting off the actual planning of the raid onto Malfoy and Yaxley. He knew that, between the two of them, there would be a maximum amount of destruction and showmanship, with the minimum amount of actual risk to those staging the attack._

_ "My Lord, there is one more thing," Snape had interrupted the planning before it had even had a chance to start._

_ "Yes, Severus," Voldemort asked, now in high spirits._

_ "As much as I would like to participate, my position at Hogwarts requires that I be highly visible throughout the Welcoming Feast and Sorting. Still, I would think that the attack would be most frightening if it were to occur during the Feast itself."_

_ "A capital idea, Severus! Lucius, see to it!" Voldemort readily agreed, quite pleased with the way the day was shaping up. "Severus, you are of course excused from participating in the attack—but I want a full account of Dumbledore's reaction just as soon as you can slip away!"_

_ Severus had nodded his gratitude to the Dark Lord before moving over to assist Lucius Malfoy in his planning of the attack. And, if Lucius' 'well done, Severus' was perhaps a bit more heartfelt than might otherwise be expected, no one commented on it._

"Sorry you can't be with your little Death Eater friends down in Hogsmeade, eh, Snape?" Mad-Eye Moody, now fairly quiet on his new leg, had managed to come up behind Snape while he was woolgathering.

Hiding his jerk of surprise behind a twist and his best sneer, the Potions Master replied. "Are you sorry you can't be down there as well, fighting for truth, justice and the Albus Dumbledore way?"

"Hardly," Moody snorted. "I sent a message off to the Ministry, it's their job now to protect the people. My job is here, protecting this school and its students from Death Eater scum…like you."

"Indeed," Snape replied, then paused. "You know, Moody, I often wonder what it was like, all those months locked away in that trunk of yours. Tell me, did it ever get old?"

Moody's face went bright red as his confinement—caused by his capture at the hands of Barty Crouch, Jr. and Peter Pettigrew—sputtered, and stamped away.

"Ten points to Slytherin," Snape thought to himself as he watched the old auror go.

* * *

In the Astronomy tower, Albus Dumbledore was also thinking back over the events of earlier that day.

_"Yes, Severus, what can I do for you this fine day?" The Headmaster welcomed his Potions Master into his office. "Lemon drop?"_

_ Waving off the proffered sweet, Snape dropped into a chair. "Headmaster, I have just come from the Dark Lord," he began, trying to catch his breath from his rapid walk (Severus would never admit that he at times verged on actual running) from the boundaries of the Hogwarts wards._

_ Seeing that the Headmaster was not going to respond beyond a raised eyebrow, Snape went on. "Albus, he has ordered an attack on Hogsmeade this evening, during the Welcoming Feast!" If he expected any great reaction, Snape was disappointed._

_ "I see," Dumbledore replied, thinking furiously despite his calm demeanor. Interesting…but how to best respond to this news?_

_ "Well?" Snape ground out. "I'm telling you, Hogsmeade is going to be attacked and destroyed this very evening!"_

_ "I heard you, Severus," Dumbledore said quietly. "I am merely considering just what steps, if any, we should take."_

_ Snape sputtered, completely shocked. "Why…shouldn't you be notifying the Ministry, or your precious Order, or…perhaps even warn the townspeople?" he demanded._

_ "No, I think not," was the Headmaster's calm reply. "I understand your concern, Severus, and it warms my heart, but if we were to take any of those steps it might compromise your position as a spy within the ranks of Voldemort's inner circle. No," he went on, shaking his head, "I think that our best course of action is to make certain that the children arriving today are all sheltered inside the castle as soon as possible…and then allow the Ministry to do its job."_

_ "The Ministry? Albus, we both know that the Ministry won't respond in anything like an appropriate time frame without prior warning! The town will almost certainly be razed to the ground by the time the first Auror squad arrives."_

_ "Sadly, I fear you are correct, but in this case we must consider the long-term consequences of our actions, Severus. Your position as a spy is of the highest importance to me for the long-term course of this war, and I dare not take any precipitous actions which might jeopardize that position. No," Dumbledore shook his head, "in this case I'm afraid that our best response is to do nothing, beyond making sure that the children are safe. It's really for the greater good, don't you see?"_

_ Seeing Snape sitting there, unhappy and unconvinced, Dumbledore felt a need to provide a better explanation. "Severus, I am reminded of an incident that occurred during the second muggle World War, while Grindelwald was running amok across Europe. The muggle Prime Minister, Mr. Churchill, received intelligence that the town of Coventry was going to be heavily attacked by the Germans who were Grindelwald's pawns. However, defending the city heavily against that attack would have almost certainly revealed to the Germans that the British had broken their secret codes, which would have caused the Germans to change their coding system. Churchill had to choose between allowing the sacrifice of a single city, or the long-term benefits of being able to read the enemies' owls, as it were. He chose, and rightly so, I believe, to preserve the long-term benefit at the expense of the loss of a city." Dumbledore paused, remembering. "He was often haunted by that decision, as I recall, but in the end it proved to be the correct decision."_

_ "So…you're saying that allowing Hogsmeade to be destroyed is best for the long-term prosecution of the war?" Snape repeated, still not convinced._

_"Yes, I believe so," Dumbledore nodded. "Hopefully, this will be the act that convinces the Ministry to become more active in preparing for the conflict that is to come. Although, I doubt that it will be enough to compel Minister Fudge to actually admit that the Dark Lord has returned."_

_ "I suppose that you are correct, Headmaster," Snape said, concealing his surprise at how closely the Headmaster's assessment of the situation mirrored both his own and the Dark Lord's. Not for the first time did the similarities between Dumbledore's and Voldemort's thoughts strike him as more than coincidence alone might account for."_

_ "Yes, the more I consider it, the more convinced I am that our best course of action is to merely do nothing out of the ordinary," Dumbledore reassured the man. "Now, if you don't mind, Severus, I have a tremendous amount of last-minute paperwork to complete before the Express arrives."_

_ "Certainly, Headmaster," Snape said, taking his leave._

_ Once he was gone, Dumbledore allowed a smile to bloom across his face. So, Tom was going to destroy Hogsmeade, eh? Well, good! Perhaps he'd have his people begin with Aberforth's wretched establishment…and if his brother just happened to be a casualty, then how much sympathy would the 'grieving Headmaster' accrue?_

Unfortunately, Aberforth had survived, but that didn't bother Albus terribly. His brother had actually managed to bring him word in a timely fashion, so no doubt the family name would receive a favorable mention in tomorrow's _Prophet_. Merlin knew, Albus could use all of the favorable publicity he could get these days.

Turning from his contemplation of the storm to inspect what his staff—and two of his most irritating students—had accomplished, he was mildly surprised that Flitwick and Vector between them managed to not only link the two mirrors, but someone had enlarged the second mirror on its stand to a considerable size. Right now, all that he could see was rain falling all around (presumably the view being transmitted from the first mirror), but there was a sense of movement to the image.

Filius Flitwick was peering through the omnioculars, only occasionally glancing from them to the second, larger mirror as he kept his wand pointed out into the storm.

"I believe I'm almost there," he announced in his high voice. "Just let me see about getting the angle right," he said, peering more closely into the omnioculars. "There! What do you see?" he asked, still looking into the brass eyepieces.

"Nothing much," Septima Vector said, then used her wand to make an adjustment to the viewing mirror. Suddenly, a few blurred patches of light swam into view. "Hold it right there, Filius," she instructed, making another gesture with her wand.

The image on the mirror suddenly cleared, causing a brief moment's vertigo in all of the observers. The were looking down at Hogsmeade from several hundred feet up—high enough to see most of the village—from a vantage point that reminded Harry and Cedric of seeing the city from broom-back. What they saw, however, made all of them (except Dumbledore, who seemed to be expecting it) gasp.

Despite the pouring rain and driving wind, despite the altitude from which they were viewing the village, the flames were all too obvious.

Hogsmeade was burning.

**A/N:** Another fun Harry/Cedric story I recommend is **xJacksonx's** 'Decoding You'. Also, I'd like to give a special thanks to **.Eternal**, for a very nice and supportive review that came at just the right moment on a particularly horrible day. Readers like Evangeline are why we write this stuff, and keep on writing it even when the blood pressure is 180/115 (pity it's not a stock, I could sell it and make a bundle!).

The Coventry bombing that began November 14th, 1940 (which the German's code named 'Operation Moonlight Sonata') resulted in the near-total destruction of the city. It was later alleged that Churchill received advance warning of the attack but ordered that no defensive measures be taken, thus preserving the Ultra/Electra broken code secret. These allegations were later refuted, but the story lives on just as Dumbledore tells Snape in this chapter.

Here's a suggestion for all of you aspiring screenplay writers: **CELTX** is a FREE, open-source script writing program which you can download. While it's not Final Draft and Gorilla (the professional programs I have used previously), it also doesn't cost $$$-did I mention that it's FREE? I've been using it recently, just to try it out, and it works well enough that I was able to generate a 35 page script for a short film without any difficulty. Plus, the open-source nature of it means that there are plug-ins coming all the time, as well as active discussion boards and very good on-line documentation. So, if you have the urge to try your hand at any kind of scripting, I'd recommend taking a look at this program before you plop down the big bucks for the professional stuff.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **…and another chapter. Once more into the breach, dear friends…. The disclaimer from Chapter 1 still holds, as sad as that may be. Again, this is unbeta'd, so be kind.

**Chapter 5**

_Note: Flashback_

Lucius Malfoy popped into the apparation room at Malfoy Manor, bringing the smell of burning wood and wet robes with him. Shrugging out of his robes and Death Eater mask, he banished them with a flick of his 'work' wand. This particular wand—one of several custom-made Gregorovitch wands that he kept on hand as spares—was one of his favorites, as it had a very similar 'feel' as his 'official' Ollivander wand in his serpent head cane. Of course, he would never be such a fool as to use his regular wand on any Death Eater raids. The cane was too closely associated with him, and using it would be tantamount to taking out a full page add in the _Daily Prophet_ to the effect that Lucius Malfoy liked to play Death Eater on weekends. For the same reason, he always made it a point to banish his robes and mask after each outing, conjuring a new set at need. That way, there would never be any physical evidence for the Ministry's goons to find during one of their not-infrequent raids of the Manor.

Once he had dealt with the physical evidence of his evening's 'amusements', he set about clearing the wand of the evidence of its recent uses. As good as some of the Aurors might be at using _Prior Incantato_, no one could recover more than the most recent dozen or so spells from any wand. So, a quick _Deletrius_—the variation that cleansed the casting wand rather than a target—followed by a series of innocuous charms, mostly _Accios_ and levitations, with an occasional banishment or fabric cleaning spell, and no one could possibly associate his spare wand with anything other than the normal usages of an upstanding, law-abiding wizard citizen.

Narcissa met him as he was leaving the apparation room. Her nose wrinkled as she got a whiff of him, and she sidestepped his attempt at a welcoming hug and kiss.

"Eeh, you smell like smoke and wet goat," she said, waving her wand and performing an air freshening charm. "I'll wait until you clean up to ask how things went."

Lucius sighed, then nodded. "Considering that I've been setting fires in the middle of a great howling storm, it's no wonder I smell the way I do," he reminded his wife. "Join me in the bath?" he asked, hopefully.

Narcissa grinned and fell into place beside him. "Not the most eloquent seduction I've ever heard, but good enough," she laughed. "The best lies are those build on a kernel of truth, after all." In case someone was crass enough to ask, Lucius and Narcissa had spent a quiet evening at home alone, enjoying each other's company. It was an alibi that would hold up under anything short of Veritiserum interrogation, and the chances of the Ministry having enough evidence to put either of the couple under truth serum were virtually nil.

Some time later, Lucius and Narcissa were relaxing in the bath, Lucius leaning back against his wife while she rubbed his shoulders.

"You're incredibly tense tonight," the Lady Malfoy said. "Anything you care to talk about?"

Lucius sighed, partially in reaction to the bliss of the massage and partially to relieve his stress. "Cissa, it was…" he began, then trailed off.

Narcissa waited several long seconds, then gently prompted her husband when it seemed he wasn't going to continue.

"It was…."

"It was…almost like herding sheep to the slaughter," Lucius sighed again. "We appeared, and the panic started almost immediately. Most of them just screamed and ran, like some kind of vermin when you cast a _Lumos_. And then some bright fool—I think it was Aubrey—got it into his head to start casting Fiendfyre, and from that point on it was sheer madness and confusion."

"Well, isn't that what you had hoped for? An easy outing, with no resistance?" Narcissa asked gently.

Lucius shook his head. "Of course, it's just that…dammit, Cissa! They are…were…wizards, and witches, just like us! Every single one of them, and most of them in Hogsmeade purebloods, at that! If more than one in ten even bothered to raise a wand against us, I didn't see it! Disgusting, the lot of them," he slammed his hand against the rim of the huge tub in anger and frustration.

"I take it that there weren't any injuries in your group, then?" Narcissa asked in the same soft tone.

Lucius sighed once again, calming quickly. "No, nothing of consequence. Oh, I think that Goyle caught a splinter from a shattered beam, but that was the only thing I'm aware of."

"Well, that's good, then."

"I suppose." Lucius shook his head. "Still…it was disappointing, in a way. They should have done something, anything, but instead…."

"Instead they did exactly what Dumbledore's school and the Ministry have trained them to do these last decades," Narcissa said firmly. "Absolutely nothing—don't think for themselves, don't try to defend themselves, run screaming and wait for the great Albus Dumbledore or the Ministry Aurors to come and save them." Sarcasm dripped from Narcissa's words. "Purebloods or not, they _are_ sheep, plain and simple."

"I know, I know," Lucius nodded, relaxing back once more. "It's just that I wish…."

"What, darling?"

"Sometimes, I wish that the common witch or wizard would grow a bit more of a spine, that's all," Lucius said wistfully.

"Well, Lucius Malfoy, how remarkably democratic of you," Narcissa teased. "The next thing I know, you'll be supporting full rights for Muggleborns and house elves."

Lucius chose not to dignify that with a response, but did shift a bit to move his wife's hands to a particularly tender spot.

* * *

Martin Peebles looked around the ruins of Hogsmeade and sighed to himself. He and his partners had apparated into Hogsmeade just in time to see the last few Death Eaters disapparate away, leaving the ruin of the town in their wake. The first few minutes after his arrival had been pure chaos, as he and the rest of his three-man team fought magical fires, looked for more Death Eaters, and tried to calm the hysterical populace. For the love of Merlin! Couldn't these people remember how to use a wand? You'd think that they could have done a better job, at least in putting out normal fires. Sadly, the suddenness and brutality of the attack had left them shocked, stunned and virtually useless.

A squad of Unspeakables, just arrived from London, was dealing with the last few rampaging Fiendfyres, and the auror teams seemed to have most of the other fires under control. As the senior Auror present, Peebles knew that it was time to turn his attention to getting an accounting of the number of causalities.

"Tomkins, Andrews, I want you two to start a building by building search for survivors. Send any walking wounded to the railway station, since it seems to be the biggest building left standing. Culpeper, alert St. Mungo's to send us a triage and emergency team up; you're in charge of getting them set up there. The rest of you lot, start trying to get us a head count, then ask these folks for the names of anyone who's missing." Peebles was rather proud of the way he sounded crisp and authoritative, when all he really wanted to do was go somewhere and have a stiff drink or three.

"What about the dead?" one of the small group of Aurors around him asked quietly.

"I'll get us some more help up here from the Ministry, as well as ask Mungo's to send some of their people along to help with the bodies, as well. We'll have to call people in tonight," Peebles shook his head, knowing that he would catch hell for that from the higher ups who wouldn't actually come out in the storm, "but needs must." Nodding heads around him showed that his people knew the magnitude of what had happened, and how it would disrupt the comfy life of many at the Ministry. "And, for the love of all that's holy, can somebody please do something about that…thing?" he asked, gesturing at the Dark Mark snarling overhead.

"I'll get the Unspeakables on it," one of his people said as they moved to their various tasks.

Peebles nodded his thanks, then concentrated on calling up a happy memory to use to summon a Patronus messenger. It took him a few moments, but finally he opened his eyes and cast the spell, bringing a silvery mongoose into being in front of the auror. "Message to Auror Dispatcher: Senior Auror Peebles requesting additional assistance for after-action operations. Hogsmeade has significant damage, many injured, unknown number of casualties. We need general assistance, forensics, damage assessors. Send us all that you can, it's a right proper mess up here." A wave of his wand sent the Patronus skittering towards the south. A few moments more, and a second mongoose followed the first, this one headed for St Mungo's instead of the Ministry, describing the situation and requesting assistance with the injured and the dead.

That done, he turned and began to survey the damage with an eye towards what needed doing next. At some point it would be time to begin planning the rebuilding, but for the moment he knew that there were still too many things to be handled in the immediate aftermath of the attack. Chief among those things was just what the bloody hell he was supposed to do with all of the newly displaced people that were standing around in groups of two or three, watching their homes smolder in the pouring rain.

No sooner than the thought crossed his mind than the first of those people seemed to notice him standing there in his Auror robes. Slowly at first, then more rapidly, they began to gather around him. None of them were saying anything, but all were looking at him expectantly, waiting to be told what to do next.

"Right, then," Peebles began, playing for time. "I don't want any of you lot digging through these buildings by yourselves, see? Get yourself together into groups of four or five, so that some of you can be ready to help out the ones who are going through the ruins, in case they collapse." He tried not to notice the winces that went around at the word 'ruins'.

"Oi, what are we going to do in the meantime? Most of us have been completely burned out, and don't have anything but the clothes on our backs. Some of us don't even have wands anymore!" a voice called out.

"Mine was on my dresser upstairs, but the house collapsed! How am I supposed to find my wand without a wand?" another demanded.

Martin took a deep breath and told himself that these people had just been shocked witless, and that it would wear off. "Make sure that your groups have at least a couple of people with wands, and then they can summon them. Gather what you can right now, and start heading towards the station house. We're setting up a field hospital there, and a crew from St. Mungo's should be there presently to help with the wounded."

"And just where are we supposed to go after that?" yet another voice rang out. "Are we just supposed to sleep out in this rain tonight?"

At this, a general babble broke out, leaving Peebles at a loss. Turning his head from side to side, he cast about for a solution in desperation, until his eyes hit upon the sight of the Hogwarts castle, a gentle glow coming from several of the windows.

"Hogwarts…" he breathed, half to himself. Then, with a shake, "Hogwarts. Gather up what things you can carry, and begin to head to Hogwarts. We'll see about getting everyone sheltered there for the night, and work out something better in the light of day."

"Hogwarts? You expect Dumbledore to just open up his precious castle for the likes of us?" came a surprised (and very skeptical) voice from an elderly witch just in front of him. It was the clearest expression of what was a general murmur of disbelief from the gathering crowd.

Ignoring for the moment the implications of what the old woman was saying, Peebles nodded, trying to project an air of confidence that he certainly didn't feel. "Of course he will! This is an emergency, after all; how can he refuse?"

Several snorts and various mutters to the effect of 'who is this idiot?' and 'doesn't know Dumbledore very well, does he?' surrounded him, but there were no more blatant objections as the crowd began to break away. "I'll just go up there now and talk with the Headmaster myself," Peebles said, reassuring the crowd and himself at the same time. "We'll have things sorted by the time you get there," he finished lamely, realizing that he was talking over the assorted shaking heads and snickers of the scattering group.

Well, that could have gone better, he thought, then considered what he should do next briefly. Go to Hogwarts, certainly, but perhaps….

A moment's concentration later, yet another mongoose Patronus scurried off in the direction of the castle. Peebles told himself that it was to let the Headmaster know that the danger had passed, and to let him know that the castle's wards could be safely lowered. Yes, that was exactly what he told himself as he began walking towards the castle's gates.

* * *

In the Astronomy tower of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a small group of wizards and one witch looked carefully into a large mirror. The view appeared to be from high above the ruined village of Hogsmeade, and what they were able to see was becoming progressively less clear as the last of the fires were extinguished.

"Well, at least they've managed to get the Fiendfyres under control," Filius Flitwick said softly. The Charms Master was sitting in a conjured chair, his wand arm resting on a bronze armrest, also conjured. His wand continued to steadily point into the storm in the direction of Hogsmeade, where his levitation charm held the counterpart to the viewing mirror steady despite the driving rain and wind.

"Yes, but what about the rest of the village?" Septima Vector looked on in concern as the image twitched in response to a slight movement of her wand. The Arithmancy Professor slowly rotated her wrist, and the view in the mirror expanded, giving the same effect as if the first mirror had floated lower. "I'm not seeing more than a handful of buildings that don't have at least some damage, and far too many that look to be complete wrecks."

"I'm afraid that you are correct, Septima," Headmaster Dumbledore sighed. He had a very concerned look firmly set on his face, but inside a part of him was both amused and disgusted by the uselessness of the inhabitants of Britain's sole all- magical village. Sheep! Complete, total and utter sheep! At the first sign of trouble most of them had dropped their wands, screamed and run shrieking into the streets, where they had been cut down like ripe barley. Seeing the carnage that a handful of Tom's supporters had wrought, Albus was once again convinced that he—and only he—could ever possibly hope to lead such a useless rabble through these dark times and into a better age. "I fear that we may be looking at the end of Hogsmeade as we know it," Albus continued. If we're lucky, he thought. The impertinent villagers had been a thorn in his side for many years now. Hopefully, this would be the impetus for most of them to leave the area. The support of his castle and school would only require a few dozen townsfolk, a number which would be easy to recruit and manage, without all of the unnecessary foolishness of the old villages' demands on his time that….

"Albus! Are you even listening to us?"

The Headmaster jerked back to reality as his Arithmancy Professor's voice cut through his reverie. "I'm sorry, Septima, blame an old man's becoming lost in his thoughts. You were saying?" he asked cordially. Once again, his 'old man' excuse served him well.

"I was saying that there seem to be a pair of Patronuses headed south, probably to the Ministry and St. Mungo's, requesting help."

"Oh, right you are," Dumbledore said, looking out into the rain, as of yet unable to see anything. "I'm afraid I can't see them—what form did they take?" he asked.

"Either a mongoose or a ferret, I couldn't be sure which," Flitwick replied, peering into his omnioculars. Curiously, he glanced at the now-giggling Harry Potter, standing a respectful distance off to one side with Cedric Diggory. "Mr. Potter?" he asked.

"Nothing, Professor, nothing," Harry said, smiling. "I was just reminded of something…humorous involving a ferret."

Flitwick nodded, recalling an incident involving young Draco Malfoy and the faux Professor Moody in the previous year. "I rather doubt that anyone who had been involuntarily transfigured and then forcefully bounced off the ground several times would be similarly amused, Mr. Potter," he said, firmly. Then, relenting a bit, "still, I understand how the history that you and Mr. Malfoy share might…shade your view of the 'incredible bouncing ferret' somewhat. I do hope that you two are able to come to some kind of understanding this year, for both your sakes."

Somewhat to Flitwick's surprise, both Potter and Diggory nodded. "I think you'll find that a number of things are going to be different this year, Professor," Cedric Diggory addressed him. "Including Harry's relationship with Draco," he finished.

"Indeed. Well, I'm glad to hear it," Flitwick said, turning back to the omnioculars. "Albus, it seems that the Aurors are using the railway station as a triage facility. I believe I've just seen a team of healers portkey onto the station platform from St. Mungo's."

"Very good. Tell me, what condition are the warehouses around the station in?" the Headmaster asked.

"One appears to have some minor damage, but I'm afraid the others will have to be razed and rebuilt from the ground up," Flitwick sighed as Vector made a small sound of dismay. All three of the staff members knew just how dependent Hogwarts was on regular shipments of food and other supplies coming into Hogsmeade from London and the Midlands via the rail line. The warehouses around the station house were there for a reason, and without them the castle would be hard-pressed to accommodate the storage needs for foodstuffs for several hundred hungry teenagers on a regular basis.

"Well, it appears that we will all have a great deal of rebuilding to do," the Headmaster replied, then paused as a slivery form streaked up to him and appeared to be speaking to him. The magic inherent in the Patronus kept the message private, audible only to the intended recipient. Then, its mission completed, the Patronus dissolved into mist, leaving behind a Headmaster with an irritated expression on his face.

"What is it, Albus?" Professor Vector asked, concerned.

The Headmaster frowned at the message he had just received. "The Auror in charge in Hogsmeade wants me to open up the castle to the Hogsmeade refuges," he said.

"Well, of course we must!" Vector said quickly. "Certainly we have the room, even if it's only in the corridors, and we simply can't allow those poor people to stay out in this weather without any shelter!"

"I understand the dire straits that the good folk of Hogsmeade find themselves in, but think of the danger to the students!" Dumbledore said. "How are we to know that there won't be a few Death Eaters among them, slipping in with the crowd. No," he said, shaking his head, "I can't allow that to happen."

"Actually, Professor, it won't be the first time that Death Eaters have been on school grounds," Harry spoke up before either of the two professors could react. "Not to mention a faculty member possessed by Voldemort himself," Harry ignored the cringe of everyone except himself and Dumbledore when he said the name, "or other known marked Death Eaters, like Lucius Malfoy." Taking a quick breath, Harry pressed on, not allowing the Headmaster a chance to object. "As the person who would most likely be the main target of any Death Eaters that did enter the school—based on past experience, and other factors which I'm pretty sure you don't want to discuss right now—I really can't see where refusing to take in a bunch of refugees in a crisis like this is justifiable."

"Your compassion does you credit, Harry, but…" Dumbledore began, but was cut off as Harry straightened.

"Now, let me speak as Lord Potter, who will be taking my seat on the Wizengamot at the next available meeting, Headmaster," Harry said firmly. He stepped away from Cedric just a bit, and let some of his magic loose to flow around him. "This is a crisis, in what promises to be a long war against the Dark Lord. You have the resources to give aid and assistance to people in need, and protect your students at the same time. I suspect that I am not the only member of the Wizengamot who will want to know just why you refused to help your fellow wizards and witches in their hour of desperate need." His eyes flashing, Harry stood there, and Albus Dumbledore suddenly realized that the determined young man in front of him was no longer the scrawny waif he had watched be sorted into Gryffindor just a few short years earlier.

"Professor, the students are already sequestered in the Great Hall. Can't we let the people from Hogsmeade use another part of the castle, just for the night? I'm sure that in the morning the Ministry will be willing to help us make some other arrangements," Cedric stepped up to stand beside Harry, offering a solution to the problem that would allow both sides to save face.

Septima Vector recognized an entrance line when she heard it. "Mr. Diggory's correct, Albus. We can leave the students in the Great Hall for the time being, and use parts of the castle well away from there for anyone from Hogsmeade who needs shelter for the night. Tomorrow, we can see about better arrangements, but right now there are people who desperately need our assistance."

"Given some of the accusations that have been made against you and the way you run this school, Albus, I'd think that you'd be happy to have this opportunity," Flitwick jumped in. "Think of the good press you'll get for this! You can't buy good publicity like this with a sack full of galleons. We can have the house elves open up the old equestrian arena and the adjacent stables, and that should be more than sufficient space for the entire town, at need. After all," he chuckled, "Hogwarts is a bloody castle, after all," he finished, sliding down from his chair and shrinking his omnioculars with a casual wave of his wand.

"I suppose that I have no choice, then," Dumbledore said, outwardly gracious in defeat. Inside, he was fuming at the temerity of these people and their disagreements. "Septima, if you will, go to the Main Gates and meet our guests. I'll lower the castle's wards and have the house elves begin preparing the arena and stables. Fortunately, it's been many years since we offered any courses in the equestrian arts, so they should be in good condition for use as a temporary barracks. Filius, if you and Minerva will begin conjuring blankets, that would be most helpful. I'm certain that we won't have enough on hand. Harry, I want you and Mr. Diggory to head directly back to the Great Hall. Explain to Professor McGonagall and the rest of the staff what we're about, and remind them that I expect all of the students to be bedded down by now." Turning, the Headmaster continued talking as the group headed for the stairs. "Now, someone needs to remind me, first thing in the morning, to request more blankets and other emergency supplies from the Ministry in the morning. Merlin only knows when we might need them again. As you said, Harry, this is likely to be a long war, and we do live in the most secure castle in all of Britain. Also, I suppose that it might be prudent to set up some more or less permanent emergency facilities, and we certainly want to increase our stockpiles of medical supplies…."

The Headmaster continued in this vein, thinking out loud about ways to prepare the castle for the war to come, as the group left the Astronomy tower. Of course, Albus didn't mention to his students or professors that he intended to make the Ministry pay for every bit of it, and then some!

* * *

Martin Peebles trudged his way through the pouring rain and sloppy muck that was the road between Hogsmeade and the gates of Hogwarts with a determination born of frustration, helplessness and growing despair. The scene in Hogsmeade's High Street had been bad, and a brief visit to the aid station in the station house had been worse. Several of the healers from St. Mungo's had basically demanded that he force Dumbledore to open up the school's hospital wing to those patients who were so critically injured that they couldn't be apparated or portkeyed back to London. And, by the time he had managed to get away from the station house, there was already a crowd gathered to follow him to the school.

So, leading his rag-tag parade, he slogged his way forward.

He was a bit surprised—but only a bit, mind you—to find one of the Hogwarts staff waiting for him at the gates. The cloaked witch stood there, hood up and broom in hand, an Ever-Dry charm keeping the rain well away from her head and body.

"Good evening, Madam," he began. "I'm Senior Auror Martin Peebles, and I'm here to beg a favor…" he began, feeling as if he should be holding his hat in his hands.

"Well met, Senior Auror," the witch's voice rang out. "And welcome to Hogwarts. I'm Septima Vector, Professor of Arithmancy. We're preparing a dry place for these good people to stay, and we hope to at least have something warm for them to drink shortly. If you'll all just follow the path," she gestured with a sweep of her hand, "someone will be at the castle to direct you from there." Smiling, she stepped back, the gesture opening the way to the castle and refuge from the storm.

As the sodden refugees moved past, Peebles moved to stand beside the professor.

"I don't know what I would have done had the wards still been up," he confessed quietly, keeping his eyes on the line of people struggling past.

Septima laughed softly. "I was with the Headmaster when your Patronus arrived, so I was able to get here quickly," she said. "And, you should know this: Albus initially didn't want to let any of these people in, for fear of Death Eaters slipping in with them."

Peebles shrugged. "That had occurred to me, but I didn't know where else to put these folk for the night. In the morning, we can see about doing something better, but for now…." He trailed off.

"Well, be thankful Harry Potter was there with us," Vector said, keeping her voice low so that only the auror could hear. "He pointed out a few things to the Headmaster, which convinced Dumbledore to change his mind."

"Harry Potter, eh? The young Lord who's also the shirt-lifter?" Peebles asked, still focused on the displaced proles of Hogsmeade.

"Indeed," the Professor replied, a bit coolly. "And also soon to be a Wizengamot member, as well as Triwizard Tournament Co-Champion. And, as you'll recall, his fellow shirt-lifter and betrothed is also a Triwizard Champion, Cedric Diggory."

"Oh, I…I didn't mean anything by it," Peebles stuttered. "It's just…."

"It's just the way you normally think about them, and it just slipped out?" Septima asked sweetly.

"Well, yeah…I mean, no…I mean…" Peebles sighed. "He talked the Headmaster into letting these people in, you said?"

"Indeed he did, Senior Auror. I suggest that, in future, you keep that in mind when speaking about Lord Potter."

"Yes, ma'am." Chagrined, Martin Peebles shut up while he was still behind.

* * *

Harry and Cedric trailed Professor Flitwick into the Great Hall, stopping to talk with their classmates as the tiny Professor went on to speak with the Headmistress and the rest of the staff. After a hurried conversation, Professor McGonagall informed the students that they would be sharing the castle for the evening with a number of refugees from Hogsmeade and summoned the Prefects to help manage the relief effort.

"And under no circumstances are the rest of you to be intermingling with our temporary guests," she finished. "Despite the fact that the attack is over and the Aurors have the situation well in hand, we cannot be sure that some unsavory elements have not used this opportunity to infiltrate the castle. Therefore, you will remain here for the rest of the night, and be returned to your respective Houses in the morning. Once there, I expect that you will remain in your dormitories for most of the day tomorrow, until some provision can be made for those people whom we are accommodating this evening. Arrangements will be made for the house elves to serve your meals there, as well as provide for your other needs." She paused, her stern gaze sweeping across the Great Hall. "Upper years may want to use this opportunity to begin familiarizing your new housemates with what will be expected of them in the coming years, but I would ask you not to begin teaching the first years any magic beyond the OWL level." At the snicker that ran around the Hall at that, a tiny smile creased McGonagall's face. "I expect that we will be back on our normal schedules shortly, so enjoy this brief respite while you can. I assure you, we _will_ make up for this lost time during the upcoming term." Ignoring the groans that her last statement elicited, she smiled somewhat more broadly, nodded to the Hall, and turned back to the group of Prefects waiting for instructions.

Since neither of them were Prefects, Harry and Cedric were back with their friends in the combined Gryffindor/Hufflepuff corner of the Great Hall. As soon as McGonagall's speech was over, their interrogation commenced.

"So, tell us…why did you two get called out?" Hannah Abbott demanded.

"Yeah, what makes you two special? Well, aside from the obvious, of course," Dean Thomas asked, grinning at the snickers he caused.

Cedric grinned back and took a swipe at the Gryffindor. "Aside from _what_ obvious, Thomas? Harry had an idea about using charmed mirrors to watch the battle down in Hogsmeade, and Flitwick was kind enough to let us go see if it would work the way Harry thought it would."

"Yeah, yeah, Susan told us about your brilliant idea with the mirrors and all," Seamus insisted. "What we want to know is about the battle? What happened? Was it really Death Eaters? Was You-Know-Who there?" Nods all around confirmed the general curiosity of the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor students.

Harry and Cedric shared a look, then Cedric shrugged. "It was…not very pleasant to watch," he said quietly, Harry looking somber and nodding beside him. "We saw the Death Eaters basically run amok through the town, without any significant opposition. Those few people who managed to keep their wits and wands about them weren't able to stop what was happening."

"I think…" Harry began, then paused. "I think that most of the people were just so scared that they didn't even think about defending themselves or the town. What's worse, anyone who actively tried to fight back was pretty much on their own against several Death Eaters, and you can imagine how that came out," he finished.

Around the two boys, heads nodded and eyes looked down at what they were hearing. Finally, one brave soul called out from somewhere in the middle of the pile of students and sleeping bags.

"So…is it destroyed? The town, I mean," she finished.

Harry and Cedric just shrugged, neither one of them overly concerned with identifying the source of the voice. "We don't know…after all, it's not like we had the very best view, what with the storm and all," Harry began, then was cut off by another voice.

"But…what about the people? How many were hurt, or killed?" Cedric thought he recognized a second or third year 'Puff by their voice, but couldn't be certain.

That one question burst the dam, and suddenly Cedric and Harry were bombarded by dozens of whispers, some not quite as soft as others. Not knowing the fate of anyone in particular, or any of the businesses in Hogsmeade, all they could do was shake their heads and try to keep some sort of limit on the volume of the group.

Unfortunately, their best efforts weren't good enough, as Professor Snape strode over to them.

"Quiet, all of you! 10 points from both Gryffindor and Hufflepuff for this unseemly racket!" he snapped.

"Afraid that the Slytherins might not get their beauty sleep?" a comment sailed out from further back in the pile, obviously muffled in an attempt to disguise the speaker's identity.

Needless to say, Snape was not amused. "Who said that? Show yourself at once!" he barked, only to be answered by the shuffling of bodies in sleeping bags. "Well, for your loyalty to each other," he sneered, "another 10 points from both Houses, for disrespecting a Professor."

"Personally, I've always felt that you had to have someone's respect before you could be _dis_respected," Mad-Eye Moody grated from where he had moved up behind Snape. Harry caught Cedric's eye and gave a quick eye-flick at Mad-Eye's new, improved (and much quieter) leg, making both boys snicker to themselves. "Well, at least you'll never have to worry about me disrespecting you, Snape," he went on, the insult hanging there plainly for anyone to see. "Why don't you just flap away somewhere else, and I'll see to this lot, eh?" Mad-Eye grinned. "You could always go tell your snakes a bed time story about poisoning children in their sleep, or something equally cheery for them."

Severus Snape bit back whatever reply he might have made, and swirled away in a cloud of black robes. When he was out of earshot, Mad-Eye conjured himself a stool and sat down at the edge of the sleeping bag pile close to Harry and Cedric. His magical eye, as usual, was in constant motion, sweeping in all directions at random intervals.

"Well, lads, did you expect to see old Mad-Eye here?" he grinned down at Harry and Cedric, as well as the group of their classmates that had gathered around them.

"Absolutely not, _Professor_," Harry smiled. "I'm surprised that the old wizard's home let you out this late at night," he smirked, raising a wave of giggles from those around him.

"I'm thinking he escaped from the home, myself," Cedric grinned up at the old auror, whose initial shock at being so blatantly insulted had instantly vanished.

"Hmm…I wonder if Sybil is seeing a ferret infestation of the Great Hall in the near future?" Moody fired back, giving a half-hearted kick out towards the pair. "Oh, stop pouting, Potter," he laughed, shaking his head at Harry's over-the-top puppy dog eyes. "Take 20 points for Gryffindor and Hufflepuff for being such cheeky little buggars." Ignoring the gasps at his language, he winked at one of the girls who looked most shocked. "Now, to be serious for just a minute—and no bad jokes about your godfather, either, Potter—just how bad was it, down in Hogsmeade?"

"It looked like the damage to the town itself was pretty bad," Harry said sadly. "Most of the buildings were burning, and Professors Flitwick and Vector told us that it looked like Fiendfyre, in some cases."

Moody let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "Aye, that'll do a right proper job of burning a town to the ground, rain or no rain," he growled. "Bastards obviously wanted to do more than just have a bit of sport, then."

"I'd say so," Cedric put in. "I think we saw at least three separate groups of Death Eaters sweeping from one end of the town to the other. If I had to guess, I'd be almost certain that someone planned tonight to cause the most damage possible, in the least amount of time."

Mad-Eye nodded thoughtfully. "I can see the logic in it," he started, then looked around at his startled audience. "What? I didn't say I approved, and I'm certainly not happy about it, but look at if from the other side's point of view. They've just driven home the fact that they can decimate one of the largest collections of wizards in the country with virtual impunity, with no losses that we know of on their side." He sighed, irritated and more than a bit depressed at what he was hearing. "I don't think there's any other way to regard this except as a tremendous win for the Dark Lord, bugger me if I don't."

The entire group lapsed into a morose silence for several minutes, then, Mad-Eye pushed himself up and vanished his stool. "Well, no sense crying over spilt milk tonight, I suppose. Tomorrow will bring what it brings, and all that rot. Now, you lot get some sleep. Come morning, we'll all be running around like headless chickens, and you'll need all the energy you'll have. I'm going to go patrol, and see what I can pick up," he said. Left unspoken was the understanding that he would pass whatever needful information he learned to the students as soon as he could.

"Night, Professor," several voices followed him as he stomped away.

A wave of his hand over his shoulder was his only answer.

* * *

Severus Snape controlled his emotions with difficulty as he strode away from the nest of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs that occupied one corner of the Hogwarts Great Hall. He was not terribly surprised to note that the Ravenclaws had co-opted the opposite corner, and a glance told him that they had also chosen to ape the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff arrangement of students, with their newest students safely tucked up against the walls and their upperclassmen around the periphery. It almost resembled a military formation, with the stronger units arrayed protectively around the weaker.

Not surprisingly, his Slytherins had done nothing of the sort, choosing a more or less random arrangement that virtually screamed 'every man or woman for himself'. Inwardly, Severus sighed; but really, what else had he expected from his house? At least the younger snakes seemed to have the good sense to cluster nearer the front of the hall, where most of the staff would be dozing or keeping watch.

With a precise wave of his wand, Severus conjured himself a fainting couch, which would allow him to be comfortable while still being partially upright. He reasoned that, even if he drifted off to sleep, he would be at less of a disadvantage that way than if he was completely prone. Also, reclining on his creation let him keep an eye on the students without sitting up—always a good thing. Another twitch of his wand, and a duvet of deep emerald green appeared on the black velvet couch.

Settling himself comfortably, Severus prepared for a long night. Of course, he knew that no attacks on Hogwarts were planned for the evening, but there could always be some other Death Eater action of which he personally would not be aware. It was, sadly, one of the less pleasant aspects of serving an insane Dark Lord.

Severus let his mind wander as the Great Hall settled down for the night.

_My Lord, if I might offer a suggestion…" Severus spoke quietly, the corners of his mouth twitching faintly as he spoke._

_ Voldemort's only response was a tilt of his head, granting permission for Snape to continue. And so he had, his mind racing as he laid out what he thought would be reasonable parameters for an attack that would satisfy the creature he called 'Lord' in such a way as to be as convincing as possible. Fortunately for him, he had succeeded._

_ "And do you have such a target in mind, my dear Severus?" he asked._

_ "Of course, my Lord," Severus replied, then paused for dramatic effect. He let the tension build just the right amount, and then…._

_ "The Village of Hogsmeade. Rather than attack the Express, why not chose a target even closer to Dumbledore's heart?" he asked, his mind still racing. "Strike a blow that will hurt his school, and his prestige, and demonstrate to the world at large that the 'Great Albus Dumbledore' cannot protect even those at his very doorstep?" Taking a deep breath, Snape noted that Voldemort was making no move to curse him—always a good sign. "Attack Hogsmeade, My Lord. Send your forces to deliver a message literally under the Headmaster's nose, and at the same time have them target the warehouses and shops that support his precious school. Make his life more difficult than it already is, and convince those who may be waffling that your ultimate triumph is inevitable."_

_ And, wonder of wonders, the Dark Lord had not only agreed, but also been pleased with Severus' idea._

_ The planning of the raid would be primarily left to others, with only an occasional suggestion by Severus being working into the final plan. So, pleading the necessity of potions a' brewing, Severus had taken his leave with Voldemort's blessing._

_ "Severus, you are of course excused from participating in the attack—but I want a full account of Dumbledore's reaction just as soon as you can slip away!" Voldemort was already beginning to gloat in anticipation of the Headmaster's discomfiture._

_ "Naturally, my Lord," Severus had replied, then beat a hasty retreat from Voldemort's presence to briefly assist Lucius Malfoy in planning the attack. Of course, the 'potions hanging fire' excuse worked equally well on Lucius (the Malfoy patriarch's wink notwithstanding), so Snape was not long delayed in returning to Hogwarts. Immediately upon his return to the castle, he had sought out his other Master, to make his report and deliver a warning._

_ Albus had not been impressed. Quite the opposite, in fact. The truth be known, Severus had been more than a bit disappointed in the Headmaster's reaction (or lack thereof) to his report about the impending destruction of Hogsmeade. Severus had sat there in Dumbledore's office, shocked, as the Headmaster plied him with some tale of a muggle Minister who allowed a city to be destroyed for some silly reason, then fed him some bit of rubbish about 'preserving his status as a spy' in the Dark Lord's inner circle. Of course, it was all 'for the greater good'—Severus often wondered if Dumbledore could have a conversation longer than three minutes without using that particular phrase—or some such rot, like allowing the Ministry to 'do their job', which of course was ridiculous on the face of it. At any rate, Snape found himself being given the verbal equivalent of a pat on the head and 'good dog', before he found himself on the stairway leaving the Headmaster to his paperwork._

Severus shifted slightly on his couch, noting that the Headmaster had returned to the Great Hall just long enough to converse with the Deputy Headmistress, then left once more. Probably to sleep in his own bed, Snape thought with derision. Not that it particularly mattered to him, rank did have its privileges and all that, but some kind of report from the old man to all and sundry would not have been amiss. In fact, it would most likely have let more of the students sleep better, just knowing for certain that the attack had ended. But, Severus had too much experience with Dumbledore to expect him to voluntarily give up any bit of information when he could just as easily conceal it for a bit longer.

Glancing out across the Hall, Severus noticed that Potter and his boyfriend—and now wasn't it still just a bit jarring to realize that the savior of the wizarding world was openly a shirt-lifter—were maintaining a discrete distance between themselves in the huge puppy-pile that was Gryffindor/Hufflepuff. No doubt that large mass of brave, loyal, hard-working and devoted souls would, before dawn, begin producing some kind of nasty ichor of goodness, probably pink in color, that would be seeping across the floor of the Hall, leaving behind a residue of happiness and contentment and sunshine and rainbows and candy floss for all to see.

Urgh. Disgusting.

Shuddering to himself, Snape closed his eyes and prepared to try to get a bit of sleep. As he drifted off, it occurred to him that perhaps he should have notified Potter and his associates about the planned attack. Would they even have believed him, had he made the effort? And, what would they have done—indeed what _could_ they have done—with no more advance warning than he could have provided?

No, Severus told himself, despite their recent overtures to him, it was not his responsibility to inform Potter and his gang of misfits and malcontents about each and every plan of the Dark Lord. Certainly, if it could affect Potter directly, his magical oath to Potter would require that he make such a report—indeed, the oath would compel him to do so. Thus, while he certainly reserved the right to change his mind about the need for routine reports to Potter in the future, it seemed that this particular attack was not something that Potter had needed to know about. Considering that his magic was still intact, and he was just now thinking about notifying the Gryffindor, his oath was apparently satisfied. Although, to be perfectly honest, by the time Snape had managed to slip away from Riddle Manor the Hogwarts Express would have been well away from London, and the enchantments on the train made it impractical to contact anyone on it while it was en route to the Hogsmeade station.

Really, Severus consoled himself, it all came down to just how generous Potter was willing to be with Severus' share of the basilisk salvage. And that, he knew, would now be several days away from being decided.

* * *

Hermione Granger was in her element.

"Right this way, please don't dawdle, yes, one blanket only, please…right this way, yes this is the old equestrian arena, it's the only large enclosed area that was suitable on such short notice…no, we'll be using the stables for any overflow, then putting people in the corridors if there are any who still can't be sorted out…I'm afraid that enchanted chamber pots are the best that we have for the moment, but we've curtained off areas in the back; men on the left and women on the right, that's right…well if you see something you haven't seen before, hex it and ask questions later…please try to move along, don't dawdle, right this way….yes, I'm a Prefect, but Professor Dumbledore asked me to help you all along…no, please don't go wandering about the castle looking for the kitchens, the house elves will be bringing up tea and hot chocolate shortly…no, I don't know when the Ministry will be here, or how many replacement wands they'll bring when they come…Madam, please, only one blanket at a time until everyone has one, then we'll pass out the extras…no, I don't mind if you conjure your own, that would be a great help. Can anyone else help us conjure extra blankets and pillows?" she called out. "Honestly, are you all wizards and witches or little children?" she huffed to herself.

"Actually, conjuration is only taught at the NEWT level, Granger, as you well know," Draco Malfoy drawled from right behind her. "Most of these people didn't even sit for OWLS, much less go on to their NEWTs." He smiled, helping an older man take a blanket and waving his wand to conjure a small pillow for him. "These people by and large didn't have the luxury of attending formal schooling. Most of them were taught at home by their parents, which was the best they could afford."

"I see that you don't have any trouble with simple conjurations, Malfoy," Hermione spat, then immediately pasted a smile on her face when a middle age witch thanked her profusely for a blanket. "And, I'm surprised that you're even here helping me, considering that most of these people are beneath you," she hissed.

"Granger, I've been tutored in magic since I was three years old, and every summer since first year—of course I can conjure a pillow or a blanket. And, 'these people', as you say, may be beneath me socially, but they are almost all pureblooded wizards and witches," Draco hissed back. "They are the salt of the earth, as some would say, the foundation of the wizarding world. Without them, there's no way that we of the upper classes could even hope to function, much less prosper."

Hermione froze momentarily, shocked at what she had just heard. Then, seeing Draco smile as he conjured a rag doll for a gap-toothed little girl, she shook herself, grabbed Draco by the arm and dragged him away from the line of struggling people.

"Just what was that supposed to mean?" she demanded, putting a silencing charm around the two of them.

"Just what was _what_ supposed to mean?" Draco smirked, enjoying himself.

"What you said, about them being 'the foundation of our world'," Hermione grated out.

"Actually, I think I said that they were the foundation of the _wizarding_ world, but I get your meaning," he answered, enjoying the sensation of correcting the redoubtable Hermione Granger. "Granger, we can't all be Lords of the Manor, or Unspeakables, or Professors, or what have you…some of us have to till the soil, grow the crops, make the garments…."

"But what about muggles?" Hermione demanded.

Draco shrugged. "What about them?"

"But…don't you see, muggles do all that, and more, for the wizarding world. Most of our food is muggle grown, just like most of our fabrics are muggle-made, and…" she shrugged, frustrated that she couldn't think of more specific examples. "The glass, and metal, and regular leather that we use everyday, almost all of it originally comes from muggle sources!"

Draco didn't look the least bit concerned. "Probably…so what?"

"So what? Malfoy, are you actually listening to yourself?"

Draco winced at her screech. "Well, if you keep that up, I won't be listening to much of anything," he snapped. "But, yes, I know exactly what I said. What's your point?"

"But…but…but…you admit that most of what we use everyday comes from muggles, but you want to kill them all!" Hermione spat at the young wizard.

"No, I don't. Whatever gave you that idea?" Draco asked, affecting to be puzzled. Oh, he was so enjoying this…why hadn't he played this game with Granger before?

Hermione sputtered, unable to come up with a response to what Draco was saying for several moments. Finally, she took a deep breath and steadied herself. "Draco, what about everything you've said for the past four years about 'mudbloods'? What about the Dark Lord's 'kill the muggles' ideas? What about…everything?" she almost screamed, waving her arms.

"Oh, that? Granger, you've obviously not been listening," Draco smiled winningly, as Hermione's face began to turn an interesting shade of puce. "I'm opposed to the muggleborns coming into our society and wrecking our traditions, which have stood us well for centuries. Oh, I realize that we're in many ways dependent upon the muggles for a number of things," he waved his hand dismissively. "But that's not the same thing. Remember, _my_ family history has several recent—by our standards—examples of members being actively persecuted, tortured and burned alive by _your_ family members, or at least people just like them. What I'm most opposed to is the risk that each and every muggleborn represents—the risk that our world will be exposed, and we'll be hunted to extinction. Or, worse yet, enslaved and/or vivisected by muggles wanting to exploit us, or discover the secret of our magic. You can't tell me that they wouldn't, either, can you?" he asked, staring the young muggleborn witch in the eye. "During the Grindelwald war…what the muggles called World War II…very few of the atrocities that were committed were planned or organized by Grindelwald's forces. And then, after that war was done, how many millions more of their own kind did the muggles kill? You're the 'most brilliant witch of our age', you've studied muggle history as well as that swill that Binns drones on about…tell me about Stalin, or Mao, or that Pol Pot fellow, and then tell me that they'd be content to leave wizards alone in our own little enclaves."

"But…Voldemort…he wants to…." Hermione had gone pale as she considered what Draco was discussing, and as she thought through the implications of a Stalin or Mao discovering the wizarding world.

"The Dark Lord believes in the superiority of wizard-kind first and foremost, as do I," Draco said firmly. "I doubt that he's either stupid or insane enough to believe that we would ever be able to exist without the muggles, and all that they provide for us. If he is," Draco shrugged, "then we're all doomed, because once he reveals himself as a wizard they _will_ come after him, in numbers no group of wizards could ever hope to stop. No, Granger, even if—or when—the Dark Lord comes to power, he'll still be forced to maintain some version of the Statute of Secrecy, for his own protection and benefit."

"But as a muggleborn, I'll be dead, or enslaved, or worse," Hermione whispered, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

"If you stay in Britain, probably, yes," Draco shrugged. "So, if I were you, I'd be making plans _now_ to leave the country and go far, far away. And, I'd make those plans so that I could leave in a hurry, too."

"But…where could I go? Where could any of the muggleborns and half-bloods go, to be safe from him?"

"Granger, I honestly don't know. But, I can't say that I've ever looked into it, so there may be several perfectly nice locales out there that I just don't know about." Draco grinned. "And why do I suddenly have this mental image of you in a fur-lined parka standing on an ice flow, scratching the ears of your pet polar bear?"

"Oh, you!" Hermione laughed despite herself, then lightly punched Draco on the arm.

"Ow! Vicious woman! Are all you Gryffindors such beasts? No, wait, yes you are," he corrected himself, rubbing his arm. "Now, have you had enough fun assaulting my tender personage, so we can get back to handing out blankets to the wretched masses?"

"You, Draco Malfoy, are a horrible person," Hermione said, her expression fierce. Then, she actually smiled. "And, I'm going to tell everyone I know that you've been conjuring dollies for the little girls," she smirked, cancelling the silencing spell.

"Why, Granger…resorting to foul lies and character defamation, if not outright slander?" Draco drawled, his customary smirk firmly in place. "How remarkably dastardly of you. Keep it up, and we'll make a good Slytherin of you yet."

Hermione's only answer to this was a severe look, which caused Draco to burst out laughing, which made everyone nearby look at him as if he had gone stark, raving mad.

The little gap-toothed girl looked back at him and waved gaily, her new dolly tightly clutched in her other arm. Making sure that he was standing where Granger wouldn't see, Draco Malfoy waved back.

**A/N:** In the above chapter, Draco is telling Hermione what HE thinks the Dark Lord stands for, and will do—which may (or may not) agree with Tom's own notions. Don't flame me for that. Also, Draco's no fool…he knows that if his family switches their allegiance (or merely goes neutral), having Hermione Granger as an ally couldn't hurt. Why not invest a minute or two, use a neutral word rather than an insult, and sow a few seeds of doubt? Hello: SLYTHERIN, remember? Also the 'since I was three years old' is almost certainly an exaggeration, but this Draco talking to Hermione, remember?

Yes, I know the plural of Patronus should be 'Patroni', but JKR insists that it be 'Patronuses', hence the usage herein. The specifics of the Patronus messenger in this chapter, specifically the 'privacy' feature, are mine alone—but it just makes sense that such a spell would be commonly used by Aurors in the field, and not just by Dumbles and his Order of the Fricassee.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** The morning after the attack on Hogsmeade. Plus, some notes at chapter's end about the hows & whys things are the way they are in the magical world. Again, unbeta'd, and no change in the usual disclaimers. I _truly_ never intended for the story to zig this way, and right now I'm just kind of hanging on for the ride as the aftermath of the attack sorts itself out. The basic plot is still the same (Tom is evil, Albus is not much better, Ron is an idiot, etc.), but it may take a while to get there. Please be patient, and keep your arms inside the cart at all times.

**Chapter 6**

_Once again, italics indicate a flashback._

As per his long-standing instructions, Minister Fudge was not awakened with the news of the attack on Hogsmeade. In fact, Cornelius Fudge himself had written the Ministry protocols ("Policies and Procedures for the Notification of the Minister for Magic in Case of Fire, Flood or Other Emergency") specifically so that only an attack on the Ministry itself would cause him to be awakened. Otherwise, he reasoned, it could not be of any significant importance to the wizarding world at large, and he would bloody well wait to hear about it until after he had broken his fast, or at least had his morning tea.

Consequently, it was just after eight o'clock, as he was enjoying his first cuppa of the morning (Twilling's Breakfast, one lump, milk in first as is only proper and civilized) that the floo in his receiving parlor flared into life.

"Minister Fudge!" The face of Percy Weasley, Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic, floated in the green flames of the floo, anxiety written large on his freckled face. The interaction between the red of his hair and freckles and the green light of the floo gave a black cast to his features that was more than a bit eerie.

"Yes, Weatherby, what is it?" Fudge asked unconcernedly, sipping his tea. He was actually rather accustomed to these morning calls from young Weatherby, as the boy was far too anxious for his own good, the truth be known. However, having an overly anxious young assistant was one of Fudge's many secrets for his great success in politics. Overly anxious young assistants were always very good at keeping up with all the boring little details of his job, so that Fudge himself didn't have to bother.

"Minister, have you seen the _Prophet_ this morning?" Percy asked anxiously. He had resigned himself to being called Weatherby as long as Fudge was in office, feeling it was a small price to pay for such an important position as the Minister's Junior (and most important) Assistant.

"No, actually," Fudge replied. "Why, should I have? It's usually not delivered here for another half hour or so." Inwardly, he sighed. What nonsense was that rag printing now?

"It's Hogsmeade, sir. It was attacked by Death Eaters in the night, and completely destroyed! There were at least 50 causalities, and most of the population of the village has taken refuge at Hogwarts!"

"WHAT?" Fudge slammed his cup down, spilling his tea, before jumping up and running to the floo. "When did this happen? Why was I not informed sooner?" he demanded.

"Sir, it apparently happened early last evening. The Aurors suspect the attack was timed to begin at the same time as the Hogwarts Welcoming Feast. You weren't informed, sir, because it's policy not to disturb you." If Percy was overly upset with having to remind the Minister of this, he didn't show it. He was well shielded by Fudge's own guidelines, and more than confident that the Minister would be impressed with what he had already done this morning—once he calmed down enough to learn about it, at least.

"And Death Eaters, you say? How can you be sure," Fudge stammered. First that horrible business with the Quidditch World Cup, then Potter's allegations at the end of the Triwizard Tournament, coming at the same time as that whole debacle with the Crouches, and now this!

"The Dark Mark was cast over Hogsmeade, and stayed there for twenty to thirty minutes before the Unspeakables could dispel it, sir," Percy was saying. There's little doubt that everyone in the vicinity saw it." And took several pictures, one of which graced the cover of the morning _Daily Prophet_, he didn't bother to mention. The Minister would see it for himself, soon enough. "Not to mention the fact that there are literally hundreds of witnesses who saw people dressed in Death Eater garb, destroying the town and cursing anyone foolish enough to raise a wand against them."

"Well, bollocks," Fudge spat. "How many of the Death Eaters were captured by the Aurors?"

"None, sir."

"WHAT? Surely you're not trying to tell me that the entire village was destroyed and not a single perpetrator was apprehended by the Aurors?"

Percy shook his head. "No, sir. The last Death Eaters were apparating away as the first Auror squads arrived on the scene.

Fudge bit his lip angrily, then stood there, thinking furiously. How best to salvage this mess and, most importantly, how to make it look like someone else's fault? Perhaps, if he could lay enough blame on the DMLE; he could make all of the right noises, scapegoat Amelia Bones and her Department, and ride out this mess. "All right, here's what we're going to do, Weatherby. I'll be coming through the floo directly. Notify all of the Department Heads that I'll meet with them at ten this morning. Until then, not a word about this, do you understand?"

Percy nodded. "Yes, sir, of course, sir. But, what about the _Prophet_? They've already had a reporter here this morning, asking for a statement. What should I tell them?"

"Not a bloody damn thing, that's what you're going to tell them!" Fudge took a deep, calming breath. "Schedule a press conference for this afternoon, I suppose. Mustn't let the people think that their Ministry isn't on top of the situation."

"Yes, sir. Would you like that press conference to be before or after you tour the village, sir?"

"Eh, what was that?" Fudge was still thinking about how to avoid the blame for the attack, and almost missed what Percy was saying.

"I took the liberty of assuming that you would want to tour Hogsmeade as soon as possible today, sir…reassure the people, provide the _Prophet_ with a photo op of you comforting the victims and assessing the damage, that kind of thing," Percy suggested.

"Oh, quite right, quite right, good thinking, Weatherby," Fudge nodded. "Let's plan on doing the press conference there at Hogsmeade—is there anyplace suitable there in the village, I wonder? That way it will have more of an impact." And, get my face on the front page of tomorrow's paper, Fudge thought.

"Very good, sir. Shall we plan on touring the village from one until two, then having the press conference at two? I believe that Hogsmeade Station is still relatively intact," Percy looked down, obviously taking notes below the level of the fire.

"That should do nicely, yes," Fudge agreed. "Now, I'll leave you to begin making the arrangements while I finish dressing. I'll be there presently."

"Minister," Percy nodded, then withdrew from the fireplace.

Still deep in thought, Fudge turned and walked back to his bedroom. Which robes, he was thinking, would be best to wear today? Something appropriately somber, suitable for observing a ruined village from an appropriate distance, he decided. Nothing too fancy, and certainly not anything that would be easily stained would be his first choice. While he certainly didn't intend to go so far as to actually touch anything in Hogsmeade, who knew just what kind of situation he might have to walk through?

His mind focused on his wardrobe for the day, he never really paused to consider just what had happened, and what was going to happen, to all of the residents of the former village of Hogsmeade.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office at Hogwarts, sipping a cup of tea (Earl Gray, three lumps, no milk or lemon) and awaiting the morning delivery of _The Daily Prophet_.

Unlike the Ministry—which always received the first papers off of the presses each morning—Hogwarts was on the home delivery list, and was also a good distance away from the _Prophet's_ presses in London. Consequently, it was typically somewhat later in the morning, during the latter part of breakfast, when his paper arrived.

Usually this was of no concern to the venerable Headmaster, but this morning he was still a bit unsettled by the events of the previous evening. Over seven hundred refugees from Hogsmeade were now camped out in _his_ equestrian arena and stables, and the house elves had already informed him that their supplies on hand would only last through the next day, at the current rate of consumption.

Well, that was easily enough sorted—Albus was already mentally composing the letter he would send to the Minister (with a copy to the_ Prophet_) about the 'dire need to support our fellow witches and wizards in their time of need', as well as reimburse his school for the 'tremendous burden which we were all too happy to bear' in housing the displaced people of the village.

Albus snorted to himself. As long as the parasites were gone from his school by the end of the day, he quite frankly couldn't care less where the ruddy buggers were sent off!

That there would be front-page coverage in the morning edition about the decimation of Hogsmeade, the Headmaster had no doubt. It was simply too big of a story, involving far too many personnel from the Ministry and St. Mungo's, for him to have any hope that the _Prophet_ would not have gotten wind of the matter. And, since he had been forced to leave most of the school wards down through the night to accommodate the multitude of people coming and going between the school and the remains of the town, there had been no way for him to isolate the survivors from the press. While he had not spoken with any reporters personally—at least, none that had identified themselves as such—he had made a concerted effort to put in an appearance before the refugees. They truly were a sad lot, and he had given them empty platitude after empty platitude while actually managing to promise nothing of substance. Still, the sheep had appeared to take heart from his very presence, as was only right, and today he could begin to foist them off onto the shoulders of Fudge's ministry.

Oh, he was enjoying the thought of doing that!

In the meantime, the attack would continue to be nothing short of a massive inconvenience for him. Not only would Tom's forces be emboldened by their success, but the financial and logistical strain on his school would be substantial. Dumbledore was not looking forward to his next conversation with the Hogwarts Governors, but he consoled himself with the though that the Board could not refuse to follow his suggestions without exposing themselves to significant bad publicity. His plans to launch a broad-based appeal for funds 'to support Hogwarts' contribution in this time of crisis' would not be unique in the history of the school, but would not go over well among the more conservative of his governors. Some of Tom's more ardent supporters would not be terribly happy to be asked for funds to clean up after themselves, but these same people wouldn't dare face the approbation of their fellows by refusing to cough up the galleons. From Albus' point of view, that made this particular aspect of Hogsmeade's destruction rather enjoyable.

In the meantime, however, the loss of several warehouses in Hogsmeade, as well as most of the shops which kept the castle supplied with the thousand and one things that a functioning school used on a daily basis promised to be no small inconvenience. Albus had no idea as to the condition of the rail line itself, but hopefully it could be quickly repaired. The twice-daily train (down in the morning, up in the afternoon) was a vital link connecting magical communities the length and breadth of the Island. Most of the commercial goods and foodstuffs went by train, as well as a goodly number of passengers who preferred the train to other magical transportation. Since most wizards couldn't apparate more than a few dozen miles without extreme fatigue, portkeys were rather expensive and inconvenient to obtain, and the floo was a generally unpleasant experience for most, the train was a logical and well-accepted choice. Of course, for the truly adventurous, there was always the good old broom, but few adults wanted to spend several hours on a flying stick, even in the summer.

So, the first order of business had to be to repair or rebuild the warehouses around Hogsmeade Station. At the same time, Albus was determined to scrape the human flotsam out of his castle as soon as possible. Then, he could go back to his usual business—planning on how best to arrange the downfall of one Tom Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort, at the hands of his living weapon, Harry Potter.

Albus smiled to himself. Life could be so simple, when one kept ones' priorities straight.

* * *

The Dark Wizard formerly known as Tom Marvelo Riddle was sitting at his breakfast table, sipping his tea (this morning, it happened to be Orange Pekoe, with one lump and lemon) and contemplating just what might be in the morning _Prophet_. Of course, he had received a report from several of his minions the previous evening—and he had to admit, loosing a Fiendfyre or three had been absolutely inspired—but he wanted to see just what the average John or Jane Wizard would be told to think by the leading rag of the British wizarding world.

The _Prophet_ arrived in a small flash of light, having been portkeyed in by one of his flunkies in the Ministry. By having one of them divert an 'official' Ministry copy to his residence, he not only received the paper before any of the home delivery hoi poi, but also saved himself (well, Lucius Malfoy, actually) the price of a subscription.

Tom smirked. It was the little things that made life so worthwhile, after all.

"HOGSMEADE DESTROYED!" screamed the headline. Tom's smirk morphed into a full-fledged grin as he scanned the article. Near-total destruction of the village…total loss of life unknown…Aurors arriving too late to protect or save the village from destruction…Fiendfyres running amok…Minister not available for comment…Dumbledore reassures displaced…and on and on and on. Tom stopped after the fifth paragraph, knowing full well that the reverse pyramid style was thoroughly beaten into the _Prophet's_ editorial staff, who passed on these lessons to their reporters. The details mattered not to him, those he wasn't already aware of, and he'd already gleaned what he wanted from the headline and first paragraph. Yes, the unknown attackers had worn Death Eater regalia. Yes, the Dark Mark had flown over the town. No, there was still no evidence to support the absurd claims of the Potter boy and Dumbledore that the Dark Lord had, in fact, returned. Yes, the official Ministry line was still that these acts were carried out by a rogue group of terrorists seeking to adopt a 'familiar' appearance for their deviant agenda.

Riddle snickered to himself. He'd show them 'familiar', but not just yet. Now it was time to wait, he thought to himself. It would take several days for the full impact of this little escapade to truly hit the wizarding community. He made a mental note to have some of his people begin writing letters to the Prophet, excoriating the Ministry for not moving faster to rebuild Hogsmeade. He knew that, even if the Ministry conjured a completely new Hogsmeade by the end of the day, there would be those who would complain that it wasn't done properly, or quickly enough. Still other letters would need to be written, castigating the Ministry for not responding quickly enough, or in enough force, or in the wrong color uniforms…and it wouldn't take very few of these from his people until the usual letter-writing crowd took up the cry.

His morning off to a good start, the self-styled Lord Voldemort leaned back and savored his tea. It promised to be a very good day, indeed.

* * *

In the Hogwarts Great Hall, Cedric Diggory had been awake for some time. When he first awoke, he found himself thoroughly surrounded by sleeping bags, and he thought that the lump at his back might be Neville Longbottom. Fortunately, Neville was facing away from Cedric, probably spooning Hannah Abbot the same way that Cedric had wound up spooning a certain black-haired Gryffindor.

With Harry's growth spurt over the summer, he no longer could tuck himself between Cedric's chin and knees like he once had. Instead, his head now nestled in the hollow of Cedric's shoulder, and their legs wrapped together as much as they possibly could in separate sleeping bags. The bulky sleeping bags also gave Cedric ample cover for his morning erection, which considering just where they were, was all to the good. Still, he couldn't help but be reminded of just how inadequate this particular position was, compared to how he'd awakened the morning before.

He must have done something to rouse his boyfriend, because Harry had made an indistinct noise, wriggled back against him and pulled the flap of his sleeping bag over his face. It was such a typically Harry thing to do that Cedric snickered to himself before letting himself slip into a light doze.

Some time later, Cedric drifted awake to the sounds of the Hall beginning to stir. A few scattered students were standing up or heading to the loo, while still others stretched and yawned. He was just deciding whether or not to lie there for another few minutes or get up himself when the decision was taken out of his hands.

"Rise and shine, one and all!" McGonagall's voice rang out from the front of the Hall. "Prefects, if you will, let's begin getting people back to their House dormitories, where the house elves will be serving breakfast shortly. I would ask that you stay in your dormitories until after lunch, at which time you will be asked to return here to the Great Hall for a general school assembly."

Cedric and Harry joined the mass movement upwards as the Hogwarts students began shaking themselves out of their sleeping bags and trying to stand up. In several cases this was more difficult than one might have thought, because of the intertwining of limbs and bodies (especially in the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff area) that had occurred during the night. Fortunately, almost everyone had slept well, and the bulky, all-concealing sleeping bags and general good mood of most of the students kept matters calm and reasonably quiet.

As he had suspected, Cedric saw that Neville had been against his back during the night, cradling Hannah Abbott in his arms. He noticed this about the same time that he saw Neville's eyes moving from him to Harry and back again, and the two shared a silent moment of communion when they realized that each of them had been in the same position, with each of them literally having the other's back. A wink and a nod was all that needed to pass between them; as yet another Family alliance was informally sealed.

Cedric and Hannah were about to separate from their respective partners when a trio of house elves appeared in the Hall.

"The new Lordlings is being coming with us," one of the elves piped up, drawing curious looks from all around the quartet.

"I'm sorry," Neville was the first to speak to the elves. "But we've been told to go back to our Houses."

All three of the elves began shaking their heads furiously. "Oh, no, no, new Lordlings and Triwizard Champions is being coming with us to their new quarters in the Lords Hall," the leader repeated.

"Lords Hall?" Harry repeated carefully, remembering what he had read on the Express.

The leader of the small band of elves nodded, smiling. "Yes, young Master. Hogwarts is knowing about the new young Lordlings, and also the Triwizard Lord Champions that is being coming back to us. That is being why the castle is being opening up the Lords Hall for the first time in many, many years, so the new Lordlings is having their proper suites."

"But what's this about the Triwizard champion coming, too?" Cedric asked, confused.

Another of the elves turned to Cedric, his toothy grin stretching across his entire face. "It is being the ancient tradition of the Triwizard Tournament, that the winner is always being treated like a young Lordling if he is returning to Hogwarts," she squeaked.

"I do think I remember something about that," Hannah said quietly. "I remember reading that at one time there was some difficulty getting people to compete in the Triwizard, because of the fatality rates. The only way to entice people to compete was to offer them all manner of perks and inducements, besides the prize money."

"Fancy that," Harry muttered under his breath. "So much for all of that 'eternal glory' rot. Hannah, do you think you can find out anything else about that? Something tells me that we haven't been told the whole story…again," he finished.

Hannah smiled and nodded. "Give me a day or two, will you? I'll have to check the library."

Harry and Neville just looked at Cedric, who nodded dumbly at the younger Hufflepuff. He didn't put up any resistance as one of the house elves took his hand and began leading him away. A brief glance over his shoulder reassured him that Neville and Harry were following him, also being led by the hand. They were swept up in the general push out of the Great Hall, but had only gone a few dozen steps before the elves steered them to one side. There, in a place where none of the three had ever noticed a doorway before, was a sturdy door only a bit smaller than the ones leading into the Great Hall.

"Each Lordling is being touching the handle," the elf leading Cedric said. "so that is it being able to recognize your magic," he explained with a shrug. Cedric reached out and gently grasped the ancient iron handle, feeling a brief tingle—very much like when his pen and pencil set bonded to him—rush through him. He stepped back a bit to allow Harry and Neville to do the same, then stepped through the door as it opened into a long hallway.

Off either side of the hallway, ornate doors opened at intervals. Cedric could see at least three doors on each side before the gloom of the castle swallowed up the rest of the hallway.

"The Triwizard Champions is being in the first rooms, as is tradition," an elf was explaining. "The Lordling is being choosing his own rooms, but we is asking for them to be close to this doorway, if possible. It is being easier for Hogwarts to only being creating what is being needed at the time," she finished.

"I think that I'll take the room just down from Cedric's" Harry said forcefully. "Neville, you're on your own across the hall, then," he chuckled, walking away. Behind him, the elves looked temporarily confused, then as a group just shrugged. Wizards—who can say?

"Well, I see how it is," Neville mock-grumbled. "Probably going to insist on a connecting door between the two of you, aren't you?"

"Oh, Lord Longbottom, you wound me!" Harry laughed.

"Actually, I think he knows you too well," Cedric put in, opening his door. He noticed the small tingle coming from the handle once again as the door to his own quarters recognized him.

"Tiffy is being taking care of you while you are here, Master," the little elf at Cedric's feet piped. "We is not making rooms look nice before you arrives since we is not being knowing what colors and things you is being liking. When you decide, you is letting Tiffy know so we is making the room nice for you."

Cedric looked around the spacious room, momentarily speechless. The main room was nearly the size of the Hufflepuff common room, with a large fireplace taking up most of one wall. The opposite wall was covered by well-stocked bookshelves from floor to ceiling, and rich tapestries showing knights and wizards at war covered another. A sturdy door in the far wall presumably led to the sleeping quarters and bath.

"Its…very nice," Cedric managed, turning to the little elf…Tiffy, he recalled. "If you could, would you open up a door to Harry's suite, please?"

Tiffy nodded, then turned towards the wall with the fireplace. Raising her hands, she gestured towards a space beside the fireplace, causing another door to appear. Turning back to Cedric, she grinned.

"The Lordling on the other side is having to being opening the door for the first time, but after that it is being opening from either side," she said. "Would you like for Tiffy to being telling the other Master to being joining you here, Master Cedric?" At Cedric's nod, she disappeared with a soft 'pop'.

Almost immediately, the door beside the fireplace swung open to reveal a grinning Harry Potter.

"Oi, prat!" Harry called. "What's this I hear about you asking for a door between our rooms?"

"Prat back! You're just upset that I beat you to it," Cedric retorted.

Harry's response was to grin and hang his head, blushing furiously. "Well, here it is, regardless," he said. "Quick, have you seen the bedrooms yet? Go see, go see, then come see mine!" The Boy-Who-Lived laughed and disappeared back into his room, leaving the connecting door open.

Shaking his head in amusement, Cedric strode across the room to the entrance to the bedroom. As he suspected, the room was large but plainly decorated. A generous four-poster bed dominated the room, and a quick inspection through another door showed a luxurious bath, with a tub that Cedric knew would be more than adequate for two. An equally large shower also caught his eye, and he nodded in satisfaction. He had been a bit concerned about how he and Harry were going to manage being apart after the summer spent together, but it appeared that this would not be an issue after all. Not with a large connecting door between the two rooms, and outer doors that would only open to their own magical signatures….

His curiosity satisfied for the moment, Cedric left his new quarters and entered Harry's suite, only to find his boyfriend talking into his hand mirror.

"Yes, Remus, we're all fine," Harry was saying. "No, put Winky on…Winky, we're all fine here, you can let the Diggorys go home if they want to, it should be safe, now please let me talk to Remus again…."

"Tell Mum and Dad that we've fine, and that we're going to figure out a better way of dealing with emergencies in the next few days," Cedric said, loudly enough to be overheard on the other end of the connection. "All the students slept together in the Great Hall, and weren't bothered a bit," he went on, knowing that his mother would want to know."

As his boyfriend sat on the divan beside him, Harry moved the mirror back far enough so that Cedric could see and be seen in it. Both of the boys could see several faces crowded around the other small hand mirror, and several people were trying to talk at once.

"Oi, one at a time," Harry laughed. "You know, last night we saw Professors Flitwick and Vector charm a large set of mirrors like this, so that we could watch the attack on Hogsmeade from the Astronomy tower. I wonder if we could do that with a large set of mirrors here in our new rooms?" he wondered.

"New rooms? What, you're not in Gryffindor Tower any more?" Sirius barked.

"Apparently, Triwizard champions and Lords get their own quarters," Cedric said smugly. We've just been shown to our new rooms by the house elves. We each have a suite with a sitting room, bedroom and bath in a private hall, just down from the Great Hall."

"Would that be one of the things in the book that Lucius Malfoy gave you over the summer, I wonder?" Remus asked thoughtfully.

"You mean, the one that we haven't really had a chance to read yet?" Harry asked.

"That's the one," Remus laughed back. "You probably want to take a look at it sooner than later, just in case," he smiled.

"We will," Harry promised. "And, just so you know, we're going to be making a copy for Neville Longbottom. His grandmother couldn't find one this summer, and not even the library here has a copy of it. By the way, he's across the hall from us, so it's not just we two here on the Lord's hall."

"Well, that's interesting," Sirius said. "How about the security there? Is it guarded by a painting, or can anyone just come and go as they please?" He didn't sound very happy with the thought of just anyone being able to have access to his godson's rooms.

"I think it's pretty secure," Harry said, thinking. "The main door to the hall, and each of our apartment doors only open in response to our own magical signatures. In a way, it's a lot more secure than the dorms ever were, since our signatures can't be faked."

Sirius and Remus both nodded, along with what looked to be part of Amos Diggory's head behind them. "Not easily, no, and probably not by any of the students there," Remus agreed. "Still, I think that you both had better put up your own personal charms, especially when you're there alone during the night."

Neither Cedric nor Harry cared to say anything differently, and Cedric changed the subject quickly. "We'll do that today. We're supposed to stay here, anyway, until after lunch. There's supposed to be a school assembly then."

"Any idea what it's to be about?" Sirius asked.

"No, but probably how we're going to manage classes with a bunch of Hogsmeade refugees moving around the castle."

"Cedric, my boy, have you had the chance to talk to anyone from Hogsmeade yet?" Amos forced his way into view.

"No, Dad, except that we know that most of the survivors are being housed here, in another part of the castle."

"Son, what about Hogsmeade? The wireless is making out like the entire village has been destroyed."

Cedric and Harry both winced. "Dad, from what we saw last night, the wireless probably has it right. Most of the town was burning, and it looked like several of the fires were Fiendfyre. It didn't look like anyone was putting up much of a fight against the Death Eaters, either, much less being able to deal with rampaging Fiendfyres." He shook his head, then went on. "I'll be surprised if one in five of the residents have a home to go back to this morning."

The elder Diggory nodded. "I'll see just what I can pick up at work today, then," he said. "Knowing Fudge, he's just now hearing about it, but he'll be wanting to hold a press conference later today or tomorrow to make people think he's actually doing something about the situation."

"Just what exactly can he do?" Harry asked. "I mean, I'm assuming that the Ministry will be able to help provide some temporary shelter and assistance for these people, but if their homes and shops have been destroyed…?" he trailed off. "I suppose many of them will want to rebuild, but what about those who don't have the money, or skills, to rebuild what's been lost?"

"They'll be some of that last lot, no doubt, Harry lad," Amos sighed. "For them, there's not much that can, or will be done. Given how easily the town was destroyed in the first place, I can't really see the Goblins being willing to give anything like easy terms for loans to rebuild. It'd almost be guaranteeing that the Dark Lord would attack again, just to show that he could."

"But surely something can be done, can't it? Station Aurors here, or something?" Harry insisted.

"I can't much see Fudge doing that, both because of the shortage of Aurors now, and because of the expense involved," Amos shook his head. "The last few years have seen a drop-off in the number of Auror candidates applying for positions, and on top of that, Fudge's done everything he could to cut back on Auror funding. Until this summer, Harry, no one had even seemed to care about just how thin the Aurors were being stretched." He looked directly into the mirror, and waited until Harry nodded back before he went on. "As you know, Arthur Weasley and I have been working on that, mostly using your money, but everything we've managed to do has been outside of the official channels. What you're talking about now would require official action, and that on a large scale."

"Well, maybe it's time that we started encouraging Minister Fudge to actually do his job," Harry said, heatedly.

"Oh, I agree, Harry, I agree…but getting someone like Fudge to climb off his duff and do his job may be more than any of us can manage."

"We'll see," was all Harry said, before turning the conversation to other things.

* * *

Before long, the mirror-to-mirror conversation was cut short, mainly because of the difficulty of having so many people crowded around two such small mirrors. An extensive round of 'good-byes' and many promises to owl later with more information from both London and Hogwarts went back and forth before the mirrors finally went dark.

"Whew!" Cedric leaned back, rubbing his neck. "We have got to come up with a better way of doing that."

Harry was rolling his eyes in agreement when a pair of elves popped in with two huge breakfast trays.

"Tiffy is thinking that the Lord Champion is being wanting his breakfast here with the Lord Potter," Tiffy said, then began setting up the table with the assistance of the other elf.

"Makky is being thinking the same thing," the second elf (obviously, Makky) chimed in.

"Thank you, both," Harry smiled. "Could one of you pop over and ask Neville to join us?"

Instantly, Tiffy disappeared, then reappeared a few moments later. "The young Lordling is telling me to being telling you he is coming," she said, then went back to making sure that the breakfast things were arranged to her liking.

Shortly, a knock on Harry's door announced Neville's arrival. Letting him in, Harry smiled to see that he was followed by an elf and yet another floating breakfast tray.

"Join us for breakfast, Lord Longbottom?" he asked.

"Certainly, Lord Potter," Neville answered in best Lancaster drawl, grinning. "So, I wonder what the peasants are doing this morning, eh, what?" he snarked.

"Probably wondering where a couple of Gryffindor prats are at," Cedric said, then dodged Harry's strike while ignoring Neville's 'Oi!' of indignation.

"Actually, the 'Puff is probably right," Neville went on. "Frilly, would you please let Professor Sprout and Professor McGonagall know where we are, and that we'll be at the meeting in the Great Hall after lunch?" he asked the elf that had come in with him. Grinning and nodding, the little elf popped away, after nodding to Tiffy and Makky to take over his breakfast duties.

What followed could only be described as a working breakfast for the three young men. Retrieving the book of '_**Hogwarts Rules and Regs for Lords**_' and several stacks of parchment from their trunks, Cedric proceeded to show Harry and Neville how to do the reproduction charm that would create permanent copies of the book for each of them. Then, as practice, he made both young Gryffindors do the charm several times, until each of them had produced several perfect copies of the rare volume.

"I know that seems like a lot, especially since we've talked about having more copies professionally printed," Cedric shrugged. "But, now we've got extras to make available until we can get that done, and the more we have…" he trailed off.

"The less likely it is that the last available copy might accidentally be 'disappeared'," Harry finished grimly.

"Do you really think that Dum…that someone might actually do that?" Neville asked, looking around as he realized what he had almost said. Fortunately, there were no portraits on the walls of Harry's sitting room, so that was one less worry for the boys to contemplate.

"I think that stranger things…like both of us having infantile blocks on our magic not be noticed for four years here, among others…have certainly gone on before," Harry shook his head. "And that brings up another thing. We've got to see about privacy charms for all of these rooms, as well as ways of knowing just when someone wants to speak with us."

Cedric sighed, then took out his pen and a fresh piece of parchment. "I think we'd better start by making a list, so we don't forget anything," he said.

Seeing his boyfriend getting ready to take notes, Harry began ticking off things on his fingers. "We need a way for each of us to talk back and forth between our rooms," he began.

"You mean, other than by opening the door and yelling across the hall?" Neville asked cheekily. "By the way, my elf told me that the faculty can always send a house elf with a message to us, and that's usually how these things have been handled in the past."

"Wanker," Harry said, then went on with his mental list. "Well, that just makes sense. A house elf will almost always be available, and they can pop to anywhere in the castle without any problems. We just need to have a talk with the elves about when it's not okay to interrupt us. Moving on. A large mirror connecting one of our rooms with home, and another one for Neville so that he can call his Gran, needs to be put up soon."

"Also, with charms on the mirrors so we don't get interrupted at inconvenient times," Cedric said, writing furiously.

"Oh, so 'inconvenient' is this week's code for 'snogging', is it?" Neville asked innocently.

"So, Neville, you spend one night with Hannah in your arms and you're just all full of pepper and vinegar, is that it?" Harry asked. "Or did Dr. Latour give you extra cheeky treatments over the summer?"

"Something like that, yeah," the young Lord Longbottom answered, completely and totally unrepentant. "Make sure that somewhere on that list is a way for us to sneak our friends in here without certain nosey old people knowing about it."

"I am shocked that you would even consider such a dastardly thing," Cedric said, deadpan.

"As well you should be," Neville fired back, just as flat. "Possibly even flabbergasted."

"I, personally, am aghast at the very thought," Harry put in dryly. "Still, moving on…."

The conversation went on for some time, interspersed with bites of a very excellent Hogwarts breakfast and bits of what passed (barely) for witty repartee. Among the things that were discussed, or planned for later discussion, were a complete security sweep of all of their quarters—first to locate and then remove any spying charms that might be there, then to place their own privacy charms. Several options for a 'doorbell' system were discussed, but nothing immediately came to mind as being the perfect solution. It was decided to rely on the house elves for the time being, and discuss their needs with a trustworthy adult (_not_ the Headmaster) in the very near future.

Cedric and Harry also talked with Neville about getting he and his Gran a pair of magically-adapted cell phones, but Neville wasn't too sure about how the venerable Lady Longbottom might respond to such a blatantly muggle device. For the time being, they decided to see about getting a small hand mirror set-up like they had with Sirius and Remus, then ask Gran Augusta if she thought she might like a cell phone.

Both Harry and Cedric admitted that they felt embarrassed about not having their cell phones on their persons the evening before, just when they would have been most useful. Since their phones came with clip-on cases, it was a simple matter to carry them on their belts all of the time, and the magical shielding on the devices had the fortunate benefit of rendering them essentially invisible to all but the most sensitive of detection charms.

That lead to a discussion of whether or not cell phones would be allowed during classes, which in turn lead to the Hogwarts '_**R&RFL**_' book (as it was becoming known). The trio spent the remainder of the morning going over the little book, making notes and passing around ideas as they occurred.

"Here's something," Harry called out. "It says that, '_as the immediate training needs of the Head of a Wizarding House may well require materials and topics beyond the ken of ordinary wizards, Noble Houses may provide such tutors and instructors as may be deemed necessary to supplant the standard Hogwarts curriculum so long as the expense for said tutors is borne by the providing House or Houses._'" He grinned. "And the best part of it is, so long as these extra lessons don't conflict with the regular classes, there's nothing that the Headmaster or other staff can say about them!"

"You said 'Houses'," Neville asked for confirmation. "That implies that more than one House could put up the money, so apparently more than one Lord could be taught by these instructors."

"That's how I read it," Harry nodded.

Neville got a far-away look in his eyes. "So, if…just for example…House Longbottom…"

"Which is you," Cedric smiled.

"Which is me," Neville smiled back. "If House Longbottom decided that I needed to learn to ride a horse, then…."

"Then your riding instructor could teach as many other students as he liked, '_such remuneration for said lessons being established to the mutual satisfaction of all participating students, non-faculty instructor(s) and sponsoring House(s)_'," Harry read.

Cedric looked back and forth between Harry and Neville, and watched as matching evil grins blossomed on their faces. "Let me guess…one or both of you are about to suddenly develop the burning need for training in…what? A dozen or so new disciplines? More?"

"Oh, I think that we can safely plan on adding dueling, estate management and muggle and wizarding cultural studies, at the very least," Harry said. "Of course, it would be wrong of us to deny our fellow students the opportunity to share our classes with them, now wouldn't it?"

"Oh, absolutely," Neville said, grinning like a loon. "Especially since most of our classmates haven't had the same advantages that we've had, don't you agree, Lord Potter?"

"Oh, certainly, Lord Longbottom. Why, it just wouldn't be cricket to deny them, not at all," Harry giggled. "Especially since I'm feeling an endowment from the Potter Educational Trust coming on."

"Harry, there isn't any such thing as the Potter Educational Trust," Cedric complained, then shook his head in defeat. "All right, there's no such thing _yet_," he said, marking down a note on his list to have Remus contact Eddie Spindle about setting it up as soon as possible.

"I wish we could put Occulumency and Legilimency on that list, but I suspect that those two subjects would raise too many questions in too many quarters," Harry sighed.

"I suspect that you're absolutely right about that," Neville agreed. "Still, Gran and Uncle Algie worked with me on them over the summer, and I've got a series of exercises to practice on my own. I presume that it's the same with you two?" he asked, an eyebrow lifting questioningly.

"Something like that," Cedric demurred. "Harry and I worked on them this summer, too…I think we'll be okay, so long as we keep up our exercises."

"I wonder if we could use that regulation to do something about Snape and Potions classes," Neville said thoughtfully.

Harry and Cedric shared a look. "I don't know if we want to do that to Snape just yet," Harry began. "I realize that the man's rubbish as a teacher…"

"Oh, really? I hadn't really noticed, what with the exploding and melting cauldrons and unending verbal abuse and all," Neville said.

"Oh, hush, you. You know we're going to offer Snape a goodly portion of the salvage from the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets to get him to lighten up," Harry reminded his friend. "That may be all it takes to get him to be less of a git in class. Besides, he's supposed to be one of the best Potions Masters in Europe."

"I'm not saying that the man's not a Master of his Art," Neville said, shaking his head. "He may certainly know his subject, but he's absolutely pants at teaching it…as we all know. Maybe he'd be happier just teaching the upper years and doing research, if we could get someone in to teach the material through the OWL levels. I just don't want any more people to have to suffer through what I have in his classes, that's all."

"Neville may have a point, Harry," Cedric said. "It really is rare for a Master of Snape's caliber to be teaching at a school like Hogwarts—most Masters are at the magical universities, or in private consultancies. I realize that Dumbledore has reasons for keeping him close, but any fool can see that the number of Potions NEWTs has got to have plummeted in the years since Snape's been the course master. Considering just how many careers require a Potion's NEWT—not the least of which are healers and aurors—the way that Snape favors the Slytherins and demands an 'O' OWL for his NEWT classes means that the last few years there have been fewer and fewer Hogwarts alumni going into those fields. If there were two careers that you'd want to encourage, with the possibility of the Dark Lord coming back, you'd think that aurors and healers would be those two."

"Fits in rather nicely with Albus' other little schemes, doesn't it?" Harry grimaced. "Weaken the Auror corps by cutting into their potential recruits, as well as making sure that St. Mungo's and the Ministry are also chronically short of young healers, just as the Dark Lord and his Death Munchers stage a comeback."

"Gran said that for the last five years, Hogwarts has only accounted for about a quarter of the Potions NEWTS that were awarded in Great Britain. The rest were from other schools, home schooled or privately tutored students. That doesn't include the Hogwarts students that had to get private tuition for their OWLS, either." Neville shook his head, disgusted.

"Maybe that's something that needs to be addressed at the level of the Board of Governors, or even the Wizengamot," Harry mused. "I, for one, want somebody to explain to me how a NEWT in Potions is necessary for Auror training. After all, it's not like you're going to stop in the middle of a fight to whip out your cauldron and brew a batch of Pepper-Up, now is it?"

A round of snickers and giggles at the mental images Harry's dismissive comment conjured up set the three young men back to looking for even more amusing rules that could be used in their favor in the coming months.

* * *

"I'm telling you, Hermione, Harry and Neville aren't here! We've got to go find them!"

Ron Weasley's voice rang out across the Gryffindor common room, completely drowning out the other people around him who were trying to calm the ginger boy down.

"Honestly, Ron, where could they have gone? At any rate, Professor McGonagall will be here shortly, and we'll let her know that they've gone missing. She'll take it from there." Hermione Granger was trying, with little success, to talk some sense to her boyfriend.

"But, Hermione, who knows when she'll get here? And, when she finds out they're gone, she'll take points from Gryffindor. We'll be the only house in negative points by the end of the first day of school!"

"Oh, stuff it, Ron," Ginny Weasley jumped into the fray. "They've probably just gone to the kitchens to knick us a bit of extra breakfast, and they'll be here any moment. Harry's got his cloak to hide under, and Neville's got too much common sense to let Harry go haring off to Merlin knows where."

"But…but…but…." Assaulted on all sides, Ron was reduced to sputtering. "What about all of the extra people in the castle? How do we know that some of them aren't Death Eaters?" he asked petulantly.

"Actually, we don't," Hermione said calmly. "But, we've also got at least a squad of Aurors in the castle keeping an eye on our guests at all times, and Harry knows that there's a risk. He'll be fine," she said, mentally crossing her fingers. I hope, she thought to herself.

Ron looked like he was going to insist—yet again—that the only reasonable course of action was to mount an expedition to find the wayward duo, when Professor McGonagall stepped through the portrait door into the common room, proving Hermione correct once again.

"Miss Granger," the Deputy Headmistress said calmly. "I trust all of my lions are here?"

"Professor, Harry and Neville have disappeared!" Ron yelled, forgetting completely his fear of loosing points for his House. "I was just telling Hermione that we need to start looking for them now!"

"No, Mr. Weasley, they are quite safe, I assure you. They have been provided with quarters separate from these, due to their positions as Heads of their own Houses."

"What?" Ron's confused outburst was typical of the responses of the rest of the Gryffs in the common room.

"Mr. Potter and Mr. Longbottom, because they hold the positions of Lord Potter and Lord Longbottom, have been provided with alternate housing arrangements by Hogwarts itself." McGonagall paused, her expression severe. "It is an ancient custom, dating back to the time of the Founders themselves, and as such it behooves us to respect it. When needed, Hogwarts provides separate suites for the Heads of the various Noble families as may be attending classes at any given time. While it has been some years since this particular circumstance has arisen, we now have two instances of it in the same class year. Also, Mr. Diggory has been accorded similar accommodations as part of his reward for being a Triwizard Champion."

"I remember reading about that in Hogwarts: A History," Hermione gushed. "A suite of rooms in the Lords Hall was one of a series of inducements added in the middle 1700's, when there was a dearth of participants willing to risk entering the tournament."

"Quite," Professor McGonagall agreed. "At any rate, Mr. Potter and Mr. Longbottom are quite safe, and have sent word that they will be rejoining us in the Great Hall after lunch. So, if there are no other questions…" she said, her tone clearly indicating that she didn't expect there to be any questions.

Unfortunately for McGonagall's planned quick exit, Hermione was there. "Professor, do we know what's to be done with the refugees from Hogsmeade? And what about damage to the village? Did any of the business survive?"

"_We_ are still working out the details about what is to be done with the villagers," McGonagall snapped. "The Aurors are still assessing the village, and I have no information as to just what may or may not have been damaged. Until such time as factual reports are made available to us, I suggest that you spend your time preparing for your first classes rather than wasting that time in idle and fanciful speculation," she finished, staring at Ron and Hermione in turn.

"But…." Hermione tried again.

"Miss Granger! As I have told you, there is no more information I can give to you at this time. Perhaps we will know more by this afternoon's meeting. Until then, stay in your dorms and try to use this time productively." With that, McGonagall spun on her heel and stalked out of the common room, letting the painting of the Fat Lady slam shut behind her.

Hermione was still in a huff as most of the students began to wander away. "I'm a Prefect, for goodness sake! I deserve to know what's going on, so I can do my job," she groused.

"Again, Harry gets everything good," Ron groused, just as angry as Hermione. "Just once, why can't it be me that gets the special treatment?" he asked rhetorically, totally ignored by his girlfriend.

Lost in their own angry little worlds, the pair separated for their dorms, carrying their bad moods with them.

* * *

The Hogwarts Great Hall was once again filled with tables, and those tables were filled with the students of the four houses.

Harry, Cedric and Neville had been some of the first to arrive, and Cedric had sat briefly with the other two boys before moving over to the Hufflepuff table. Rumors had been running rampant all morning, but no one could claim to actually know anything of substance beyond what was in the morning _Prophet_, and neither Harry, Neville nor Cedric wanted to let slip that they were any different.

What everyone else didn't know, and hopefully wouldn't find out, was that Amos Diggory had spent the morning working the various break rooms and water coolers of the Ministry for information. He had even managed to have a brief conversation with the Senior Auror on the spot, a man named Martin Peebles. Then, he had 'gone home for lunch' and floo'd to Grimmauld Place to use Sirius' mirror to give the boys a quick update.

"It's bad, boys," he had said. "Peebles was dead on his feet, and still a bit shell-shocked, and he's got more than 20 years in the field under his belt. The last he heard, there were more than 100 dead, and most of the town yet to be checked. The surveyors weren't able to even make a start of assessing the damage until this morning, but Peebles didn't think that more than a third of all the buildings were salvageable. It looks like Hogsmeade, for all intents and purposes, has been wiped off the map."

There was some more, but that was the gist of it. After reminding Amos and Anna to always keep their phones nearby—and turned on—the boys signed off.

Around Harry and Neville in the Great Hall, speculation was the order of the day, the wilder, the better.

"So, I wonder just how long it'll be before Hogsmeade is swarming with builders, eh?" Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan had plonked down across the table from Harry and Neville. The first thing they had done was take the mickey out of the two Lords by bowing and scraping, but a few well-placed swats and insults later, all was well once again. Now, Seamus was leading the discussion about the rebuilding.

"Just how long does it take to build a house with magic?" Dean wanted to know.

Harry and Neville just shrugged. "Dunno," Harry said. "Couple of days, maybe? I can't really see it taking any longer than that, not if you've got a couple of good people charming the thing together."

"I know you don't want to use transfigured or conjured materials, unless you really want trouble," Neville said confidently. "Think about it…most magically-altered things are going to change back within a few days or weeks, unless you put a lot of effort into it. For something the size of a house, you'd wipe yourself out before you had half the walls up."

"Not to mention what would happen the first time somebody cast a good _Finite_," Harry snickered. "Imagine being in the loo when somebody vanished the walls around you?"

"Could be worse…what if somebody vanished the loo at the same time…and the floor over the cesspit," Dean managed to get out before he choked on his own laughter.

All of the boys had trouble doing anything but giggling and making gagging sounds for several minutes thereafter.

"I wonder if they might not throw up a bunch of pre-fabs," Seamus wondered, some time later. "You could use magic to put two or three of them together a day, I suspect."

"Huh?"

"Pre-fabs?"

"What're they?" Dean, Neville and Harry all expressed various degrees of confusion about Seamus' idea.

"Pre-fabricated houses," Seamus explained. "It's a muggle invention…well, idea, anyway. You build the parts of a house, walls and roofs and windows and doors and whatnot, on a production line in a factory somewhere. Then, you ship all of the parts to where ever you want your house, and put them together, like a kit."

Not surprisingly, Seamus found himself explaining the concept in further detail, including just what an 'production line' was, and how it was different from, say, the individual batches of potions that they normally made. That led to a discussion of muggle versus magical building techniques that led into warding schemes, and showed every sign of having the legs to go most of the afternoon when the Headmaster interrupted it.

"If I may have your attention, please," Dumbledore called out, a weak _Sonorus_ lifting his voice over the crowd noise. "Thank you for your attention, as well as your forbearance last evening in what was, I'm sure, a somewhat uncomfortable situation."

Smiling and twinkling down at the now-attentive students, the Headmaster went on. "As many of you know, last evening a significant amount of damage was done to the village of Hogsmeade in the Death Eater attack. I have already spoken directly with the Minister, and plans are being made for the rebuilding of Hogsmeade, as well as for the interim care of its population, even as we speak."

_"Cornelius, I demand that you remove these people from my school!" Albus was raging, his magic swirling around him as he yelled into the floo._

_ "Albus, there's absolutely nothing I can do about them for the time being!" Fudge yelled back. One very large step removed from the Headmaster's anger by the floo connection, Fudge found it relatively easy to use his own frustration to cover up his fear of the Headmaster's wrath. "We've managed to find some 20 Auror tents, and are calling for more, but there's simply no way I can find housing for those people today!"_

_ Dumbledore snorted at Fudge's statement. "Twenty tents? Let's see…at six people per tent, that's all of one hundred and twenty. I've got more than five times that in my castle! I can't have literally hundreds of villagers roaming the halls while I'm trying to have classes. The potential for disaster is simply too high. If a single student were to be harmed, either by a villager or rogue Death Eater that slipped in with them, the scandal would bring us both down."_

_ "Don't think I don't know that, Albus! Still, that castle is the only place within any reasonable distance that can house that many people. You'll simply have to put up with them for another few days, until arrangements can be made to move them somewhere else!"_

_ "Arrangements, Cornelius? What arrangements? Even with your tents, there are still over six hundred people who'll need shelter…not to mention feeding, and sanitation. I've spoken with the house elves, and we'll be out of food by this time tomorrow, even if we put everyone on basic rations. I'm telling you, Cornelius, this situation can't continue."_

_ "I know, Albus, I know." Fudge tried to sooth the old coot's feathers. "See here, they tell me that the rail line itself is intact, and the trains are perfectly fine, and still running their normal schedules. I'll put some of my people on getting together a shipment of emergency supplies—food, blankets, medical supplies and such—and we'll send out a special train with it tomorrow morning. We'll use the Express engine to pull it, if we have too."_

_ Albus nodded, accepting the Minister's offer. "While you're at it, Cornelius, why not just plan on stocking the castle for another emergency like this one. Now that Voldemort has returned…."_

_ "I tell you, Albus, you have GOT to stop harping on that!" Fudge exploded. "You'll cause a panic, and before you know it half of England will be at your gates, demanding refuge!"_

_ "And the other half will be storming your Ministry, demanding action!" Dumbledore rebutted. "Cornelius, surely even you must realize by now that all the signs point to His return."_

_ Fudge sighed. Yes, he knew it, but to admit it…. "I'll appoint a committee to investigate whether or not the Dark Lord might have returned," he said bitterly._

_ "A committee headed by, say, Lucius Malfoy, Cornelius?" Scorn dripped from the Headmaster's voice._

_ "Certainly not!" Fudge snapped. "If for no other reason than appearances sake, no one who was linked to the Dark Lord in the past can sit on such a committee…and you know that as well as I do!"_

_ "Perhaps," was all that Albus would say on that matter. "Now, about those emergency supplies…."_

"Despite the Ministry's best efforts—and I must commend them for their response thus far—it will be some few days before adequate arrangements can be made for those Hogsmeade residents who are currently sheltering here in the castle." Dumbledore looked around, his expression becoming serious. "As we cannot simply turn them out," despite however bloody much we might want to, useless sods that they are, he thought, "we must continue to provide them with at least the most basic necessities until other provision can be made. Therefore, I find myself, as Headmaster, faced with a number of difficult choices."

He paused, letting the gravity of the situation sink in. "Obviously, merely going on with our regular activities, while at the same time serving as a refugee housing facility, is impractical and potentially dangerous to you, the students. Therefore, for the next few days, classes will be temporarily suspended."

Just as the cheer started, Dumbledore held up his hands. "Before you express your excitement about that, I feel that I should inform you that your Professors have already been asked to assemble reading and essay assignments for each year sufficient to carry us through the end of the week." Enjoy _that_, you little knee biters, Albus thought, as a groan swept the hall. "While we will continue to have our regular meals here in the Great Hall, each House will be escorted too and from meals by their Heads of Houses. Also, each House will be allowed library time, again with a faculty escort, according to the schedule which you will be receiving. Other than those times, you will be expected to remain in your dormitories." Once more, he paused, before concluding in somber tones. "I assure you, the penalties for being out of your assigned areas during this period will be…quite harsh."

As the students silently contemplated their fates for the next few days, Albus glanced at his faculty. On both sides of him, neutral or grim expressions were the order of the day, except for his Potions Professor.

Of course, Severus Snape appeared to be smirking.

**A/N:** Many thanks for all of the reviews. I apologize for not being able to answer each and every one, but I assure you, they all get read.

Before you even ask; yes, I created the idea of a twice-daily magical train based on the idea that even magical schools and communities need _stuff_, and that on a regular basis. The Hogwarts Express is the special train that carries students between London and Hogsmeade, and is a separate entity from the 'regular' train (which would almost certainly also be magical). For the last 100+ years, trains have been an economical and reliable means of transporting lots of stuff, and even a group as hidebound and xenophobic as JKR's wizards ought to adopt them readily, especially when they realized just how many galleons rail shipping would save them. In terms of the general transportation, remember that the canon usually deals with the 'upper crust' of the wizarding world rather than the average witch or wizard—given the dangers of splinching, the awkwardness of the floo, and the difficulty of making portkeys implied in canon, having regular passenger train service only makes sense to me.

About using transfiguration/conjuration to build/repair houses: I think it's just logical to assume that the bigger an item is, the more energy it takes to change it. Similarly, altering the form of a something into another something of roughly the same mass is relatively easy, as opposed to conjuring that something out of 'thin air'. Copying a book using real ink and parchment as starting materials is much easier than conjuring a house from nothing—even with the Elder Wand, Dumbledore would probably have difficulty with _that_. Most wizards, I suspect, would also quickly develop 'cheats'—the 'conjured' tea is a summoned tea set, summoned water and summoned tea (from a known location) followed by a water-heating/quick brewing spell. Of course, once the house is up, using magic to expand it, or prop it up, might be a different proposition altogether (i.e., the Burrow). Still, hitting the Burrow with a few high-power _Finites_ would probably be…interesting, at the very least.

Regarding Snape: Snape took a vow ('way back in OWS, Chap. 51) to aid Harry, but Snape puts Snape first…and second…and eighty seventh…and then comes everyone else. I don't see anything changing that, ever. Still, he has a part to play….

I make no apologies for the toilet humor of adolescent males.

**Next Chapter:** werewolves, house elves, Ministers and Hedwig! Yes, Hedwig!


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** As promised, Winky, Dobby and Hedwig…also talk with the Headmaster. Also, cameo appearances by Minister Fudge, Weatherby, Black, Lupin, Moody, Little Jacque LeGrande, Ron and Hermione. Not a lot of action, but lots of plot.

**Disclaimer:** same old, same old.

_Denotes Flashback_

**Chapter 7**

Harry and Neville were almost out of the Great Hall when Harry felt a hand grab his arm, spinning him around.

"So, when were you going to tell your best mate about this 'Lords Hall', Ron demanded. His red face blended in nicely with his hair and freckles.

"I don't know…maybe when I figured it was any of your business?" Harry surprised himself by snapping back in the same tone Ron had used on him.

Surprised by Harry's fierce response, Ron sputtered to a halt. Harry had never behaved like that before. What had happened to make the little blighter grow a spine? Probably part of the whole 'I'm a Lord now, the rest of you have to kiss my arse' thing, Ron reasoned.

"Well, excuse me, yer worship," the youngest Weasley boy snarled. "I wouldn't want to presume on yer worshipfulness' time, then," he mocked.

"Ron, stop being a prat," Hermione snapped, joining the group. "Harry, you should have notified me if you weren't going to be coming back to the Tower. As a Prefect, it's my job to know these things," she lectured.

"Well, pardon me, Hermione, but I didn't know myself until just this morning. We were all leaving the Great Hall, when a group of house elves took Cedric, Neville and I to our new rooms. It's not like I had an opportunity to go chasing you down, or anything," Harry refused to be cowed, and suddenly realized that his growth spurt had given him a good few inches on the girl.

"McGonagall was notified in a timely fashion," Neville said coolly. "I trust that when you reported us missing she was able to clue you in?" he asked Hermione.

"Well…yes, but…" Hermione began, only to have Neville cut her off.

"So, the person who truly needed to know was informed, and no harm done, correct?" Neville insisted.

"Well, yes, I mean no, but..."

"Just so we're clear about that, then," Neville smirked, obviously pleased with himself at having managed to tie Hermione's brain into such a tidy little knot.

"I wanted to go searching for you both, but Hermione and Ginny wouldn't let me!" Ron thundered. "What a rum job that would have been, both of you hidden away in your own special rooms," he said, sneering openly on the last two words.

"Weasley, if you wanted a room on the Lords Hall, all you had to do was find a way to enter the Triwizard, wrangle a dragon, fight grindlylows and merpeople, work your way through a maze filled with blast-ended skrewts, acromantulas, sphinxes and other assorted creatures, then claim a trophy cup that was a portkey to a resurrection party for the Dark Lord, hosted by his inner circle of Death Eaters. That's how I got mine," Cedric said smoothly, coming up behind Ron and Hermione.

"Oh…er…well, then," Ron stammered.

"I didn't think so," Cedric said dryly. "Come one, Harry, Neville. I've got better things to do than standing here watching Yule Boy continue to make a fool out of himself.

As he let himself be led off, Harry asked Cedric, "Yule Boy?"

Cedric shrugged and kept walking. "Red hair and spots, green with envy? Looks like a bloody muggle yule gift, he does."

All three residents of the Lords Hall ignored the explosion Cedric's statement brought on.

* * *

When he arrived back in his rooms, Harry was pleasantly surprised to find Dobby and Winky waiting there for him, along with….

"Hedwig! There's my best girl!" Harry laughed as his snowy owl floated over to land on his shoulder. Reaching up, Harry caressed her feathers as Hedwig gently nipped his ear in greeting. "How did you get in here, girl?" he asked.

"Dobby is being making sure that Master Harry Potter Sir is having his Hedwig in his rooms," Dobby explained, bouncing up and down in happiness. "Dobby and Winky is also being talking with Master Harry Potter Sir's official Hogwarts elf Makky, so Makky is being careful not to be letting out Master Harry Potter Sir's secrets."

"Winky is having the same talk with Master Ceddy's Tiffy," Winky put in. "Winky is thinking that Master Longbottomes' Frilly is being needing the same good talking too before Winky is leaving."

"So, while elves are being talking to one another, Dobby is telling Makky to make Master Harry Potter Sir's room open to Master Harry Potter Sir's Hedwig," Dobby finished proudly.

"Thank you both," Harry grinned. "You're both correct, not only with knowing that Hedwig needs to be able to come and go, but also in asking the other elves to keep our secrets."

Winky sniffed. "The other elves is being trying to tell Winky that Hogwarts Headmaster is always being told whatever he is asking about, but Winky is reminding them that Lords Hall is being a special place, with special rules being only for here."

Harry nodded. "You're right, Winky, we were just reading about that in the _**Rules**_ book. Do you think that the other elves need to see the rule for themselves?"

"They is being told by boss elf himself, so no needing to be seeing," Winky dismissed the thought. "Now, Dobby-elf and Winky is being sure that no nosey listening charms are here, and we is being ready to put up no-listen charms with Master Harry."

Harry shrugged, knowing that if Winky was convinced it was almost certainly not needed. He also didn't know just exactly how Hedwig was going to get in and out of his rooms, but decided that he would ask about that later.

After a quick conference between the three residents of the Lords Hall and a group of house elves, each suite of rooms was thoroughly scanned then charmed for privacy. Somewhat to the surprise of the three young men, no spying charms were found.

"Probably because no one's had the chance to put them up yet," Cedric suggested. "Especially since certain people would have been relying on the house elves for information."

Harry, Cedric and Neville all took pains to reassure their elves that no serious direct harm would come to any Hogwarts resident from what they discussed in their rooms, although the elves seemed to grasp that there was the possibility that other people's actions would ultimately hurt them, without any actions from the Hall's occupants. The elves also seemed to instinctively realize that pranks were another thing altogether, and would almost certainly be planned in the rooms. Since nothing truly harmful (other than embarrassing) would be coming from the three, this wouldn't cause any problems for the elves.

Harry and Cedric both suspected that Winky's sniff of disapproval when pranks were being discussed kept the rest of the elves from volunteering to help in any way they could.

They had just finished the last room, and were all in Cedric's sitting room admiring the new tapestry that concealed the connecting door into Harry's quarters (matching the tapestry that also covered the door on Harry's side) when an idea occurred to Cedric.

"Tiffy," he asked. "I know that you made the door between Harry's and this room with Hogwarts' help. Could Hogwarts make us a room with a large balcony?"

"So that the Masters is being able to go flying on broomstickys from the Hall? Tiffy can being doing that," she nodded.

"Actually, I wasn't just thinking about brooms," Cedric mused. "Just a mo," he said, and went into his bedroom. Shortly, he returned holding a shiny brass cylinder about two inches in diameter and roughly a foot long.

Upon seeing what Cedric was holding, Harry started to laugh. "Oh, that's definitely not a broomstick," he said, ignoring the confused looks he was getting from the Hogwarts elves, as well as Neville.

"No, it's not," Cedric grinned. "Tiffy, this opens up to be about twelve feet wide by twenty feet long, and it flies. Plus, it's not quite six feet tall in the center. At Harry's godfather's house in London, we charmed the back wall of the top floor of the house to open up so we could fly in and out…do you think you and Hogwarts can do something like that?"

"Is that…being like a flying carpet?" Tiffy asked carefully.

"Actually, the people who make it call it an 'aerial-capable mobile wizarding domicile slash recreational vehicle," Cedric was grinning like mad. "But, yes, what it really is, is a flying carpet with a tent stuck on the back. It's got invisibility and protection charms on it, and I think I can adjust it so that it will slip through Hogwarts' wards without so much as a ripple. The question is: can you elves work with Hogwarts to give us a room—preferably here in the Lords Hall—where we can launch and land this beast from?"

Tiffy, Makky, Frilly, Dobby and Winky all spent several long moments looking back and forth at each other before Tiffy shrugged, stood up and beckoned the others to follow her. Crossing the hall, she opened the door adjacent to Neville's room and walked into the empty room. The other elves followed her, Winky coming last, leading Harry with a gentle grip on one finger.

"Can Tiffy be seeing?" the little elf asked carefully, holding out her hands to Cedric.

Nodding, Cedric put the cylinder into Tiffy's hands. "I can open it, if you need me to," he said, but Tiffy shook her head.

"First Tiffy is feeling the magic," she said, and then closed her eyes while her fingers played up and down the cylinder.

After several minutes, Tiffy opened her eyes and looked at the other elves. "You is being helping Tiffy and Hogwarts," she ordered, and the other elves nodded solemnly in response. As one, all of the elves turned to the far wall of the room and raised their hands, Tiffy holding the cylinder straight out in front of her like a sword. The three wizards felt the magic rise in the room, and then, with the sound of stone grating on stone, the wall they were facing began to fold back, opening itself like an oversized version of the entrance to Diagon Alley.

Before Cedric could begin shaking off his amazement, it was over. The far wall of the room had been transformed into a magnificent archway, with a wide balcony and waist-high railing circling it. To Cedric's eye, it looked as if there would be no problems fitting the tent-on-a-rug into and out of the room, and the room itself had been more than ample to start with. Still, the elves weren't quite finished.

Makky and Frilly each paced the length of the archway, waving their hands. When they were done, they turned back to the group, obviously satisfied.

"There! We is being all done now!" Frilly proclaimed. "Is the young Masters being happy with what we is being doing?"

"I…I don't know what to say, except thank you," Cedric said.

"See, there is being plenty of room for the ruggy-tent," Tiffy said. Winky went to her, conjured an elf-sized chair and helped her sit without comment. "And Makky and Frilly is putting no-rain and no-wind charms up, like in the Astronomy Tower," she finished, before gratefully accepting a glass of water from Dobby.

"And we is also being putting up notice-me-not charms, so that nosey peoples is not likely looking into the room," Frilly added.

"It's remarkable, just remarkable," Neville said, completely awed.

"It's almost like…magic," Harry snickered, giving Makky and Frilly squeezes on their shoulder as he went to look out across the lake. "It's beautiful," he said, turning and smiling down at the happily wriggling elves. "You're all outdone yourselves…and the first time we take the carpet out for a ride, I want you all to come with us! You deserve it!"

Then, for the next several minutes, Harry had to deal with happy, happy house elves.

* * *

"…and I assure you that everything that possibly can be done, will be done!" Cornelius Fudge was in full-bore politician mode, speaking to a small crowd of Hogsmeade residents and press on the platform of Hogsmeade Station. He had already done a walking inspection of Hogsmeade—well, he had walked a few steps down the center of High Street for photographs to be taken of him 'touring the wreckage'—and had even watched a group of people trying to salvage bits and pieces of serving ware from the Three Broomsticks. That being done, he had retired to the station platform, where he had been speaking for nearly half an hour.

After the first five minutes, all of the experienced reporters had stopped listening, leaving their dicta-quills to take notes while they traded barbs and snippy comments back and forth. The speech was typical Fudge—long on words, short on anything actually approaching real information—and most of them could have written their articles about it in their sleep. As of yet, he hadn't said anything concrete about what actually would be done for the people of Hogsmeade, and probably wouldn't.

Finally, the Minister seemed to be running down, and one intrepid member of the press yelled out a question.

"Minister, where will the people of Hogsmeade live while they rebuild?"

Fudge glared at the reporter, but recognized that he had to answer the question. "As I have said, provisions are being made…."

"What provisions? You haven't told us anything!" Another voice yelled out. Probably French, by the accent, Fudge harrumphed. Damned Frogs and their damned impertinence!

"As I have said, provisions are being made…" he began again, only to be interrupted once more.

"Why not just leave them at Hogwarts until they can rebuild? It's not like Dumbledore's going to need the space!"

That one, Fudge could answer readily. "Headmaster Dumbledore has assured me that he will make Hogwarts castle available for refugees as long as necessary," he lied smoothly. Let Albus refute me, he thought. I can't wait to see the headlines when he turns a crowd of homeless refugees out into the cold. "In the meantime, the Ministry will be seeking to expedite the rebuilding by taking every possible step to minimize the difficulties people might have in securing the necessary permits and licenses needed to rebuild and reopen their shops and homes."

"In other words, the bigger the bribe, the quicker the permit!" a voice called out of the crowd, to widespread laughter.

"Certainly not!" Fudge blustered. "I'm altogether shocked that you would even begin to suggest such a thing! The Ministry is ever-vigilant in its attempts to weed out graft and corruption, to insure that every citizen is treated equally and fairly."

"So, I'm going to get the same service as Lucius Malfoy?" Yet another voice called out.

"Yeah, when trolls learn to tango," still another heckler added.

Fudge sighed to himself as laughter swept the crowd. It was going to be a long afternoon.

* * *

Not too far away, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin had just finished touring the remains of their new home—now a burned-out husk suitable only for clearing off before starting over.

"And the title cleared yesterday morning, you said?" Sirius asked, for the fifth time.

Remus sighed. "Yes, Sirius. The goblins were kind enough to expedite the paperwork for me, as a favor to you and Harry.

Sirius shrugged. "Well, no help for it. Can we get the builders here by tomorrow? I don't see any need to muck around, not when everybody and their uncle is going to be looking for a construction crew around here."

"There may be problems with that," Remus answered. "For one thing, where are the crews going to stay while they're rebuilding the house? The Three Broomsticks and the Hogs Head are both total wrecks, and they were the only two inns in Hogsmeade."

"I don't know…tents, maybe? I think I'd rather have a magical tent than risk the beds at the old Hogs Head," Sirius said.

"You're probably right…but I'm not certain that a construction company would have any magical tents around, much less be willing to put their crew in them," Remus answered.

"Well, then we need to invest in an inn soonest, don't we?" Sirius smiled. "We can call it something dashing…like, say, The Black Heart Inn. Have a few rooms, bit of a pub, make a few galleons on the side…never have to worry about having to live off our own cooking, if we did that."

"There is that," Remus agreed, smiling. Only Sirius, he thought to himself. "Although, I don't know that Rosmerta and Aberforth would welcome the competition. Still, I suppose we could discuss it with them."

"Do that. I'm sure that we can come to some kind of agreement," Sirius nodded. "After all, if we're going to be spending any amount of time here, like we're planning, having our own inn actually makes sense."

"In an only-in-Sirius-Black's-head kind of way," Remus agreed, his eyes laughing.

"Oi!" Sirius cried, pantomiming a fatal wound to his chest. "You wound me!"

Remus only rolled his eyes as the two friends continued strolling towards the station house.

As they drew closer, they saw the crowd that had gathered.

"Oh, look, Remie, there's old Fudge, mugging for the cameras," Sirius nudged the werewolf. "Let's go see if he'll answer a question for the likes of us."

Remus' muttered 'don't call me Remie' went unheeded as Sirius sped up his pace to move closer to the crowd. He was just in time to hear Percy Weasley field a question for an obviously flustered Fudge.

"As the Minister described, we have asked for donations of wizarding tents to be used as temporary housing for the displaced until more permanent arrangements can be made. The DMLE will be releasing 20 such tents immediately from their Auror training supplies, and we hope to have them set up no later than tomorrow. Anyone with a tent who wishes to donate it to the Hogsmeade relief effort can bring it by the Ministry during normal business hours."

"What about wands? Who's going to do something about the critical wand shortage here?"

"We are working with Mr. Ollivander to arrange for his entire inventory to be transferred here to Hogsmeade, which we hope will greatly simplify the process of replacing all of the wands that were lost in the attack. However, before we can do that, we need to have a secure facility available to receive those wands, and it may be several days before an appropriate venue can be made ready. We also hope that Mr. Ollivander will provide a discount to those unfortunates who have lost wands, but of course this will be entirely up to his discretion." Percy scanned the crowd before picking out a reporter for the next question.

"Will the Goblins be involved in the rebuilding process?" one of the _Prophet's_ Ministry-friendly reporters asked.

Percy paused, an expression that he obviously intended to be serious on his face. "While the Ministry has no direct control over the Goblin's financial decisions, we have begun negotiations with them on behalf of the families of Hogsmeade to hopefully secure their cooperation in the rebuilding of Hogsmeade village.

"In other words, you don't have a clue, do you?" Sirius Black called out, causing several reporters to turn and pepper him with questions.

Sirius merely smiled for a minute and let them scream, then raised his hands for quiet. "I don't mean to interrupt the Minister's fun, but only yesterday I bought a house here. Sadly, it was completely destroyed in last night's atrocity. However, I intend to rebuild as soon as possible, and have asked my good friend Remus Lupin—who is also my godson's Seneschal—to help me coordinate this." He smirked, well aware of the cameras going off around him. "Since Remus is much better at this kind of thing than I am, I'd appreciate it if you'd bother him with all the picky detail questions. Me, I'm just hating the fact that we can't all get a drink here after a long day." Having had his say, he winked at an attractive young woman in front of him, and gave Remus a gentle nudge forward.

The werewolf found himself facing a crowd of hungry reporters, popping flashes, and screamed questions. Cringing (while inwardly promising decades of torment for Sirius Black for doing this to him), he began point out reporters for questions.

"Mr. Lupin, is it true that you're Lord Potter's Seneschal?"

"Yes, for several weeks now," Remus answered.

"And is it true that you're a werewolf?"

"Yes, it is," Remus acknowledged. "But, I take Wolfsbane regularly, as well as sequestering myself away on full moon nights. Both Lord Potter and Lord Black have expressed their complete confidence in me," he said firmly.

"Just so long as he doesn't shed on the furniture," Sirius laughed, putting his arm around Remus just long enough to give him a quick hug, then stepped back again. Once more, the attractive witch got a wink and a smile.

"Does this mean that you will be using werewolves to rebuild Lord Black's home here in Hogsmeade?" another reporter called out.

Remus paused, momentarily taken aback by the question. Then, slowly, he responded. "I haven't given it any thought until just now, but if they agree to the same precautions as I follow, I don't see any reason not to provide them with honest work. Certainly there are plenty of infected out there who have trouble keeping regular jobs because of the prejudice against them."

"And how will Lord Potter feel about you bringing werewolves into Hogsmeade?"

Remus smiled. "I suspect that Lord Potter will fully support me, if I decide to hire lycans who are otherwise good citizens. In fact, we've already talked about the need to be more proactive in terms of integrating the bitten into society, through programs to increase access to Wolfsbane and educate the populace about what the infected and their families have to endure."

"So you're saying that Lord Potter supports full rights for werewolves?" A ripple of disbelief ran through the crowd.

Remus just smiled and shook his head slightly. "I'm not going to presume to speak for Lord Potter on an issue that properly should be debated before the Wizengamot," he said, watching heads nod as people realized that he had just neatly sidestepped a potentially embarrassing situation for Harry. "However, I will say that Harry Potter has never been anything other than understanding and supportive of me and my condition."

"But you're a friend of his family!"

"And he's Harry Potter," Remus' smug grin set off laughter throughout the crowd. "Need I say more?"

"Not today, you don't," Sirius said, stepping forward again. "Terribly sorry, all, but we really have to be going. Things to be, people to do, and all that." Taking Lupin's arm, the two of them broke away from the crowd, who reluctantly turned back to a sputtering Fudge and irritated Weatherby, er, Weasley.

* * *

Harry, Cedric and Neville were all back in their own rooms beginning the process of unpacking and decorating their new quarters when a house elf that Harry didn't recognize popped into his sitting room.

"The Headmaster is being coming to see the young Master Lordling," it announced, then popped out before Harry could answer.

Harry barely had time to make sure that the door between his and Cedric's room was shut and covered before the door to his room opened.

"Harry, my boy! There you are!" Dumbledore strode into the room without so much as a 'by your leave', his eyes twinkling madly with ever step.

"I suppose that 'knocking' is one of those things I have to be protected from, Headmaster." Harry said dryly, raising his mental shields and beginning to think of chopping cabbage for bubble and squeak. "Or has common courtesy become something to which I'm no longer entitled 'for the greater good'?

"Now, Harry," Albus chided, while inwardly he suppressed the urge to hex the little cur through the stone wall. "I sent a house elf, didn't I? I supposed that would be enough," he went on, taking a seat in one of the comfortable chairs scattered around the room. "Come, sit, so that we can have a few minutes to talk with each other. It's been so hectic these last few days; I haven't had a chance to slow down for more than a few minutes at a time. Still, I wanted to come by and see how you were settling into your new quarters." And see just why it was that this part of the castle is a 'dead zone' to me, he thought. "You know, you don't have to stay here," he went on, as if sharing a great secret. "You can always go back to Gryffindor Tower, where your friends are." And where they can keep an eye on you for me, he thought, pushing a compulsion to obey into his words.

Harry put down the books he was sorting and closed his trunk to keep the Headmaster from taking a 'casual glance' at its contents, then took a seat some distance away from the old man.

"I appreciate the offer, Professor, but no thank you. I rather like the peace and quiet I'm sure I'll have here. I suppose that I got used to sleeping alone over the summer, and I'm not really sure that I'd take well to having to go back to sharing a bedroom with four other people," Harry smiled. He refused to make eye contact with the Headmaster, looking everywhere else but directly into those twinkling eyes. He had felt the compulsion that underlay the suggestion about moving back to the Tower, but brushed it off easily.

"I see. Well, we'll just have to see about getting you some portraits in here to keep you from getting lonely, now won't we?"

"Actually, sir, that would be in direct violation of the Hogwarts rules about the Lords Hall." Harry answered smugly. "Since the Head of a Nobel house will occasionally have to meet with his staff, other Heads or Ministry officials, these rooms are specifically exempted from housing any painting with a sentient subject. I'm not sure of the exact wording, but I could look it up for you," Harry said helpfully.

"Where did you hear that?" Albus snapped, not bothering to try to appear kindly.

"Oh, I have a copy of the "_**Hogwarts Rules and Regulations appertaining to Lords and Heads of Houses"**_, Harry said easily. "It's a fascinating read, Headmaster."

"You don't say," Albus replied dryly. "Could I see your copy, please, Harry?" he asked.

"Certainly," Harry said, and got up to fetch one of the copies he and Neville had made that morning from where they were stacked in a bookcase. Using his body, he tried to shield the stack from view, without being obvious about what he was doing.

If Dumbledore noticed, he gave no sign of it. Taking the slim volume, he began flipping through it. Destroy this, he thought, then a quick _Obliviate_, and then this particular problem will be dealt with. He had thought the last copy of this troublesome little work long destroyed. Probably from the Black library, he mused, not reading the pages he was looking at. They would certainly have a copy, and his access to that library, even these last few years, had always been minimal.

Harry smiled, watching the Headmaster. While he couldn't pick up any of Dumbledore's thoughts, he didn't need Legilimency to hear the gears turning in that twisted old brain. Now, to throw a wrench into those gears….

"If you'd like, Headmaster, you're more than welcome to keep that copy," Harry said helpfully. "I understand that they're hard to find these days. In fact, Neville said that his Gran looked for one all summer, without any luck. Fortunately, I had a copy, and Cedric, Neville and I have already made quite a few more of them. I'm even thinking of having a small print run done, just so we can put a few copies here in the Hogwarts library and give a few as Yule gifts to some of the more important families. You know…remind them that Voldemort represents a danger to everyone's bloodlines, not just a select few. I think that might be helpful, in some small way…don't you, Professor?" Harry asked, his voice dripping sweetness and innocence.

Albus nearly gagged at the thought, but covered it with a sigh. "Sadly, you are correct, Harry. Tom doesn't seem to care how many he destroys in his quest for power, and he was directly responsible for ending several old pureblood lines in the last war." Little bastard…he's telling me that it won't do me any good to destroy this copy and wipe his memory…how much does he already suspect?

Burying that last thought deep behind his Occulumency shields, Albus went on. "I appreciate it, Harry, but I don't know that I have the time for reading this right now. I'll take it, and put it on my shelf, and perhaps in a few days I can get to it." And find something in it to use against you, Potter. "In the meantime, I must tell you that you are looking better than I've ever seen you! The summer must have agreed with you, and I see that you finally hit your growth spurt. Has your magic done so, as well?" Albus smiled as he complimented the boy. In truth, Harry did look healthier and happier than Albus had ever allowed him to be, and the significant growth he'd had over the summer worried the Headmaster. He made a note to himself to get Potter down to the infirmary as soon as he could, to have Pomphrey give him a through checking. Of course, he'd probably have to _Obliviate_ her after the exam, but it wouldn't have been the first time, nor would it be the last. In the meantime….

"Harry, I wonder if you would let me do a quick check of your magic…just to see if it's grown as much as your body has," Albus smiled his best 'trust me' smile.

Harry shrugged, resisting an urge to reach up and touch the amulet that he wore concealed beneath his shirt and tie. "If you think you need to," he said, concentrating on not panicking.

Albus pulled his wand and passed it slowly up and down over Harry's seated body three times, humming to himself as he did so. Well, everything certainly seemed to be as it should…while the boy's magic was indeed more powerful, the blocks on his core were still in place. Granted, they were a bit stretched and frayed about the edges—as Harry's body had grown, so had his core, and the blocks had done as they should and adjusted to that growth—but everything seemed to be holding together adequately. Over the next few days he could surreptitiously bolster them, but there was no hurry in doing that.

"Well, everything seems to be fine, my boy," Albus said, genuinely happy with his findings. "As expected, as your body has grown, so has your magical core. I'm sure that you'll be happy to know that, in that respect at least, you are completely, totally normal."

"Well, that's one thing," Harry said dryly. Still, he let a bit of a smile show through, as he knew Dumbledore would expect. So what if it was for some other reason entirely…like the fact that his amulet had managed to fool the old coot!

"There is one more thing, Harry, and then I'll leave you to your unpacking," Dumbledore said.

"Yes, Professor?"

"I understand that you have a new wand, which you picked up in your travels this summer. May I see it?" Dumbledore asked, smiling.

Nodding, Harry took out his chopstick, presenting it to Dumbledore. Then, after a moment's pause, he took out the matching stick, handing it over as well.

_

* * *

_

_ Harry and his entourage had been in Paris, in the shop of Little Jacque LeGrande, Wand Maker extraordinaire. _

_ Reaching into a pocket, Harry pulled out the red-enameled and lacquered chopstick that he was going to show as his 'spare' wand._

_ "So, Little Jacque, Albert...we know that this isn't your usual commission, but...could you put a magical core in this chopstick for me?" he asked innocently._

_ It was several minutes before Little Jacque LeGrande could mute his laughter enough to allow him to do as Harry asked. Of course, he had immediately insisted on doing a set of two matching chopsticks._

_ "After all, my friends, you will be using both hands, will you not? You have my bracelets on both wrists, and you will eventually be using both my wand and your old wand, as well. So, we will preserve the illusion, as well as helping you to develop good habits, by providing you with two matching fakes!" Little Jacque had been adamant._

_ Harry had just shrugged and handed over the second of the set of lacquered bamboo sticks. Then, the entire party had tromped after Little Jacque as he went into his workroom, humming as he went. The group—Harry, Cedric, Sirius, Remus, Mad-Eye and Albert—had found places around the shop to watch the master wand crafter at his task. He had carefully placed each chopstick, one after the other, in a clamp that precisely centered it for drilling. The drilling itself was done with an ancient hand-cranked boring machine, with a drill that looked to Harry to be only slightly bigger than a human hair. Little Jacque had explained how care was required, to keep the wood from splitting, and that the use of any magic to create the hole would adversely affect the quality of wand that was produced. Even for a fake wand, he would not change his techniques._

_ When each stick was bored, Little Jacque had carefully inserted a tiny snippet of Chinese Fireball heartstring—from the same sample as Harry's wand, in fact. Then, using shavings from the boring and a drop of muggle adhesive, he had sealed the core inside the new 'wand'. A simple __Reparo__ later, the lacquering was restored, and the new 'wand' was completed._

_ "And now, friend Harry, you may use this in all confidence!" Little Jacque declared, chuckling. "There is just enough active magical core here for someone to feel, but any fool who tries to actually cast with one of these little toys will find himself sorely disappointed."_

_ Harry had immediately gone back to the testing room, where he had spent the next hour mastering the art of 'using' his new fake wands. At the end of that time, even if you knew what to look for, it was difficult to see that Harry's spells weren't actually coming from the chopsticks, but his hands (or bracelets)._

_ "Little Jacque, you're a genius," Harry had gushed, to which the old wand maker had just smiled._

_ "Mas oui, but of course. What did you expect?" he laughed. "Just do an old man a favor…if anyone asks, please tell them that you obtained those wands in the Orient, and not from me."_

_ Since that was precisely what Harry and Cedric had planned, their agreement to Little Jacques' request was easily given._

_

* * *

_

"Two wands, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, as he tried in vain to make a connection with the magic in either of the two lacquered bamboo shafts. He could feel a magical core in each one, certainly, but beyond that…nothing.

"Yes sir," Harry said. "After all, some Aurors use two wands, and I do have two arms, you know," he grinned. "Plus, these come as a set, and Mad-Eye…."

"…Professor Moody, Harry," Albus corrected.

"…Professor Moody," Harry agreed, then paused. "You know, after calling him 'Mad-Eye' all summer, it's going to be hard to go back to calling him 'Professor' again."

Albus gave something approaching a genuine smile. "I understand, but please make the attempt." Well, that explained much, Dumbledore thought. He'd have to keep an eye on both Potter and Moody, not only to see just what the old Auror had taught the boy, but in case there were any more 'private lessons' going on that he needed to know about. It wouldn't do for his weapon to have _too_ sharp of an edge, now would it?

Potter was continuing, so Albus forced himself to listen. "…since they come two to a set, he said it only made sense to use both of them. And, he made me get matching wand holsters, too," Harry said proudly, pulling back his sleeves to show off his toys.

"Very nice, Harry," Albus said, not really looking…and completely ignoring the wooden bracelets the boy had just flashed in front of his eyes. "Bamboo wood, I see…not something which our European wand makers use to any extent, but given the source…and the core?"

"Chinese Fireball heartstring, sir."

"Ah…a powerful choice, and again not something commonly found in a European wand. Now…what about your old wand?"

"Well, it's still being held by the Ministry," Harry said. "Something about it still being evidence or something," he shrugged. "Not that it matters, since I can't use it against Voldie, and these work fine for me," he said, retrieving his chopsticks and slipping them back into their holsters.

"Indeed," the Headmaster said. He made yet another mental note, this one to arrange for Harry's original wand to 'disappear' accidentally from the Ministry. Wouldn't do for it to be examined too closely, now would it? Even though such a move was unlikely, Albus didn't believe in taking any unnecessary chances.

"Well, Harry, I must be going," Albus said, rising easily. "You're certain that you wouldn't prefer to move back into Gryffindor Tower?" he asked, once more pushing a mild compulsion into his words.

Harry shrugged, seemingly unaffected. "No, sir…but if I don't like it here, can I change my mind in a few days?" he asked meekly.

"Of course you can, my boy, of course," Albus beamed. And you will, after just a few more 'suggestions' from me, he thought confidently.

His robes sweeping behind him, he made his exit, leaving Harry standing there, looking at his feet.

* * *

Harry waited for nearly a full minute after the Headmaster left before he slowly walked to the connecting door between his and Cedric's suite.

"Cedric, can you come here for a minute?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

"Just a sec," Cedric replied from his bedroom. There was a muffled series of thumps, then he walked out, smiling. "Just putting up a few more things, love. What do you need?"

Harry didn't answer with words, but moved to wrap himself around Cedric, pressing their bodies close together. Cedric's surprise at this didn't stop him from putting his arms around Harry and holding him tight as Harry laid his head on his shoulder. They stood there, hugging each other, for some time before Harry sighed, then spoke.

"Guess who I just had a visit from?"

Cedric didn't have to guess. "Let's see…old, bearded, barmy, fashion sense of a demented flobberworm?"

"Right in one."

Cedric's arms squeezed just a bit tighter. "Do I need to scan you for recent magic? How about your rooms?" He paused, then turned his head so he wouldn't yell into Harry's ear.

"Tiffy!"

A pop sounded. "Tiffy is being called?"

Cedric smiled down at the elf. "Yes, Tiffy…would you and Makky please check Harry's rooms, and the Lords Hall outside, for any new listening or other spying charms? The Headmaster was just here, and…," he trailed off.

Tiffy nodded, then darted into Harry's bedroom.

Harry stepped back from Cedric and just stood patiently while Cedric ran his wand up and down, muttering to himself as he did. "Well, I can't find anything," he announced. "If the Headmaster put anything on you, I can't find it."

Harry sighed. "For now, we'll assume that he didn't, but I'll get Professor Moody to check me out later today."

"Going to be tough remembering to call him 'Professor Moody', isn't it?" Cedric remarked lightly, watching Tiffy walking about the sitting room out of the corner of his eye.

Harry grunted his agreement as he collapsed onto a couch. "Yeah, I've already been corrected on that once by the old coot," he groused.

"Tiffy is not finding any snoopy listening charmses," the little elf said, then popped away.

"Well, that's something," Cedric said, trying to lighten Harry's mood.

Harry just grunted once more, then lay back, his hand covering his eyes. "I'm sorry to be such a girl about this, Ced, but having to verbally duel Dumbledore, while hoping that this amulet would work, and keep my Occulumency shields up, and watch out for other hexes…." He trailed off with a sigh.

"So…did Dumbledore cast any spells while he was here?" Cedric asked carefully.

"A couple," Harry admitted. He tried to use a compulsion on me when he talked about moving back into the Tower—I'm sure that he's got Hermione and Ron, and who knows else, spying for him there—then he 'checked my magical core', to see if it's grown to match my physical growth."

"And…?"

"I think he checked for my blocks, and he seemed satisfied with what he found, so it's a good bet that Little Jacques' little goody is working as advertised."

"Well, that's a relief," Cedric said, taking a seat across from his boyfriend. He was getting a strong 'don't touch me right now' vibe from Harry, and was inclined to go with it.

"He wanted to put up a few paintings, to 'keep me from getting lonely'," Harry went on, making quote marks in the air with his fingers. "He didn't seem at all happy when I gave him a copy of the _**Rules & Regs**_, and told him that we'd already made several more."

"Oh, really?"

"Really. As in, I think he probably would have destroyed the book then Obliviated me if I hadn't told him about the copies," Harry sighed.

"Harry…" Cedric began, only to be cut off.

"No, I can't prove it," Harry said bitterly. "It's just a feeling. Still, I don't want to be alone with him at all, and that goes for you and Neville, too. I don't trust him, as sad as that is to say."

"Sad, yes. True, absolutely. I don't trust the old man either."

The two sat in silence for a moment, Harry stewing and Cedric waiting while Harry stewed. Finally, Harry sighed and stood up abruptly.

"Makky?" Harry called, then smiled as the elf popped in. "Could you please ask Neville to join us here?" he asked. Grinning, Makky popped out.

"You realize that Granger is going to give you at least three separate lectures about misusing the house elves as your own personal slaves," Cedric said dryly.

Harry made a sour face, knowing that his boyfriend was right. "She'll have to catch me first," he snorted. He had had just about enough of Hermione Granger's lectures, and wasn't too keen on getting any more.

Cedric didn't say anything, but he was pleased with Harry's response. While he suspected that the 'Golden Trio' had been formed by the Headmaster's manipulations, he didn't have any proof of it. Still, from his point of view, it had been quite effective in keeping Harry isolated from the rest of the student body, even from the other members of his own house. It was heartening to see that Harry was finally coming to realize just what an albatross around his neck his 'friends' had actually been. It would, after all, make one of Cedric's main goals for the year—to get Harry moving in a much wider circle of friends and potential allies—much easier.

Makky popped back and announced, "Lord Longbottom is being coming now," before disappearing.

Harry was about to open the door when Neville's knock came. Smirking, Harry pulled the door open, gesturing his friend in.

"Guess who I just had a visit from?" Neville asked, before either Harry of Cedric could say anything.

"Merlin?" Cedric quipped.

"Father Christmas?" Harry threw out.

"Not funny, and not even close," Neville huffed, sitting down. "No, our distinguished Headmaster just came by to 'encourage' me," he said, sneering, "to move back into Gryffindor Tower 'so I wouldn't feel left out' this year. As if," he finished, leaning back against the fine leather of the couch.

"Let me guess…you felt a compulsion charm along with his 'suggestion'," Harry said. It wasn't a question.

"Right in one. And, a 'magical check up', because 'I've just grown so much over the summer'," Neville snorted again. "At least, I'm fairly confident that my bracelets from Little Jacque work as advertised," he said. "They certainly tingled during my 'check up'."

"Have you checked your room for listening charms?" Cedric asked, relieved when Neville nodded.

"I had Frilly check, right before I came over here."

"We did the same, and I think we're clear," Harry said. "Still, Cedric, if you would," he said, waving at his friend.

Cedric raised an eyebrow, asking for Neville's permission before he passed his wand over the young man just as he had done for Harry. Unlike Harry, though, he paused and frowned.

"There's something here, I think," Cedric started, then stopped. "Tiffy, I need you!" he called out.

"Tiffy is coming to help!" the little elf cried out as she popped in.

"Thanks, Tiffy. Could you please find Professor Moody and ask him to come see us here, as soon as is convenient for him?" Cedric asked.

"Tiffy is happy to be helping such a polite young Master," she said, then popped away.

"What is it, Ced?" Harry asked. His concern was evident on his face, as was Neville's.

Cedric just shook his head. "I'm not sure, but I don't think it's anything to worry about. I'd just rather Mad-Eye take a look at it."

Harry raised one eyebrow, then pointed to his ear. 'Listening?' he mouthed.

Cedric shook his head, then shrugged. "Well, Neville, I hope that you've been reading the _**Rules and Regulations**_ book," he said, obviously steering the conversation to a less sensitive topic.

Neville smiled and nodded his understanding. "Oh, quite. I do think it's a wonderful idea, though, to send a copy off as soon as possible to have a regular print run made up." The look in his eyes was enough to let Harry and Cedric know what he was thinking: get a copy of the book out of Hogwarts and into safer hands while they could.

"I think that's a capital idea, Neville," Harry said, going to get a spare copy from his bookshelf. "I'll just dash off a letter to my solicitor right now, why don't I?" he asked deliberately. "I'll also send a copy to Remus, in case he needs one as my Seneschal."

"Good idea," both Cedric and Neville agreed, while Harry rummaged for parchment and his pen. In a matter of minutes, he had scratched out a note to Remus, as well as to Eddie Spindle.

"Come here, girl," Harry smiled, holding out his arm for his owl. Hedwig was there in a second, leaning into Harry's stroking. "I've got a couple of letters, they shouldn't be any trouble for you," he said, smiling at the owl's 'well, of course not!' look. Shrinking the two copies of the books, Harry wrapped each in the appropriate letter, then sealed them with a bit of wax and the Potter ring on his right hand. Hedwig waited patiently as they were tied to her legs, then leaned into yet another scratch from her master. "There you go, pretty girl. One is to Remus Lupin; the other is to Eddie Spindle at his office. Be safe, beautiful," Harry finished, launching Hedwig into the air. She circled the room once before disappearing into Harry's bedroom.

"Well, that tells us something, at least," Cedric said carefully. "I'm not worried at all about Hedwig, but I do think we should watch her the next time we send her out, just to see what the castle has arranged for her comings and goings."

Harry and Neville both nodded, knowing that a bit of caution sooner might save a world of grief later. While Neville hadn't had the intense summer exposure to Alastor Moody's 'Constant Vigilance' philosophy, he had his own version of it from his grandmother. And, speaking of which….

"Oh, I forgot to mention this on the train, Harry. My Gran is interested in working with you…and Cedric, too, if you'd like…on a Wizarding Culture introduction for muggleborns and the muggle-raised half-bloods."

"Really? That's great, Neville. I mean, I think working with you to play 'catch-up' will be great, but…" Harry said. He had mentioned his idea in a letter to Neville over the summer; along with a number of other things, like going to Paris for a medical check-up and new wand.

"But I'm not going to do it for the entire student body, and your idea to teach the muggleborn and raised about our world really caught Gran's attention. I pointed out to her that people like Hermione are generally just dropped into our world with no preparation, and wind up making fools of themselves…."

"Or insulting someone horribly," Cedric added.

"Exactly…through no fault of their own," Neville finished. "That's one of the things that she wants to talk about with you at our first Hogsmeade weekend. Except, that, I don't think we'll be having Hogsmeade weekends for a while," he corrected himself grimly.

"We'll work something out, Neville, don't worry. If we have to have her come here, and meet with us in our rooms, we can do that. Remember, it says so in the _**Rules & Regs**_ book," Harry grinned.

"So, we call it a matter of Family business, and I play host?" Neville grinned, thinking about how they could use the _**Rules**_ to their benefit.

"That would work," Harry agreed. "Or, she could just insist on a 'regular' visit with you, and Cedric and I could just happen to be invited to tea with your lovely Grandmother."

"I think that you two are having _much_ too much fun plotting something so simple as this meeting," Cedric snorted, only to be laughed at by both Gryffindors.

"You could be right," Neville allowed, "but still, I think that it's an idea that needs to be explored. The main difficulty I foresee is getting the Board of Governors to agree with adding it to the curriculum."

"I don't think that'll be a problem," Harry grinned. "I've already talked with Lucius Malfoy about it, on the platform before we boarded the Express, and he seemed to be in favor of it."

"Especially after you volunteered to pay the costs of the course," Cedric smirked.

"Yeah, well, whatever it takes," Harry shrugged.

"I can see how it would be difficult for Lucius to oppose something like that," Neville said thoughtfully. "One of his main arguments for years has been that the muggleborns don't respect our traditions. Since we can make the counter-argument that it's not their fault because they've never been taught, fighting against an instruction course makes it plain that he's just flatly opposed to the muggleborns. That's not a very popular position to take, generally."

At Harry's raised eyebrow, Cedric took up the explanation. "Love, the purebloods have to be careful about coming right out and saying that they hate the muggleborns, for several reasons. The muggleborns are usually the ones who manage the exchange of goods and services between the muggles and us, so they literally are the hands that feed us, and clothe us, and almost everything else. Also, more and more families find themselves with a muggleborn or two married into them, hushed up though it may be. Except for a very small circle that are content to marry first cousins indefinitely, most families are more reasonable…or more cautious about inbreeding. That's why You-Know-Who never managed to gain any more followers than he did, the first time around."

Harry nodded, following the argument. "That's why Lucius was so interested, when I talked about birth rates," he said thoughtfully.

"Exactly," Cedric said. "It's been bandied about for years, and there have even been some encouragements made, in a very small way, to try to get people to have more children. Still, it hasn't done very much, and I doubt any more pretty words from Fudge or one of his flunkies will change things in the near future."

"Well, if you can get both Lucius Malfoy and my Gran to support it, I rather doubt that anyone will have the stones to object," Neville grinned.

"That thought had occurred to me," Harry admitted with a shrug, which caused Cedric and Neville to burst out laughing. Not wanting to be left out, Harry quickly joined them.

The boys were still laughing when Tiffy popped in to inform them that Professor Moody was on his way, and that one of them needed to give permission for her to let him into the Lords Hall.

"Of course you can let him in, Tiffy," Cedric smiled. "We'll have the door open, so he won't have any trouble finding us here." With an almost-curtsey, the little elf popped away.

Harry was at the door and opening it at once. "With Mad-Eye, there's no telling how soon he'll be here," he said.

"And with that new leg of his, you can't hear him coming anymore," Cedric grinned.

"I noticed that leg," Neville said. "Beautiful craftsmanship…it looked familiar, somehow," he smirked. When Harry and Cedric both looked at him, he just winked, unwilling to say anything else until the rooms had been checked by the paranoid ex-Auror turned Professor.

By unspoken consent, all three young men sat quietly as they waited for the new DADA Professor to arrive. Fortunately, they didn't have time to wait.

"Potter, what good does it do to have a secure door, if you leave it standing wide open?" Alastor Moody thundered as he entered Harry's sitting room. "What have I taught you?" he asked.

"Constant Vigilance!" came back at him from three throats, as all three young men roared back.

"Yes, well," Moody said, then grinned. "I suppose that you didn't think I'd notice that all of you have wands or whatnot ready to give me what for, if I turned out to be someone else."

"Why, Professor, you'd think we'd been trained by professional paranoids, or something," Harry said sweetly, shooting his cuffs to show off his bracelets.

"Impudent brats. Two points for each of you, just for cheek," Moody said, then seated himself in a chair facing the door. "Now, what can I do you for?" he asked.

"Neville and I have just been visited by the Headmaster, and we thought that a quick spell check might be warranted," Harry said quietly.

"I've already done what I could, and didn't find anything," Cedric said, just as quietly. "Still, we thought it best to have you double check."

"Good thinking, lad. The room been checked yet?" Mad-Eye asked, looking around with this magical eye in all directions.

All three students nodded. "Tiffy and Makky checked, and said that the rooms are clear," Cedric confirmed.

Moody nodded, but took another careful look with his eye anyway. "Looks clear," he pronounced. "Now, Diggory, pay attention to what I do, see? There's no reason for you not to be able to do just as good a job as me at this, and it'll save us all a goodly bit of time and effort. Watch closely…come here, Potter, you first," he said, and proceeded to check both Harry and Neville.

By the time Moody had pronounced both of them 'clean', and reviewed the spells with Cedric to his satisfaction, the house elves had come and gone, leaving a tray of refreshments without having been asked. To everyone's relief, what Cedric had noticed was an interaction between his own detection spells and the twinned pair of bracelets Neville was wearing. Mad-Eye had assured them that such a thing was fairly common, and had done a minor adjustment to Neville's bracelets to prevent any reoccurrence from drawing attention to his 'jewelry'.

"Well, I must say, this is some fine service," Mad-Eye said, helping himself to a biscuit. "And nice digs, too."

"We're well pleased," Neville grinned. "Although, the Headmaster has already tried to compel Harry and I to return to Gryffindor Tower."

"And yet, you're still here, and not packing up to move," Moody grinned.

"Not on a bet," Harry laughed. "For one thing, we won't be having to deal with Ron's snoring any more."

"Or being spied upon all hours of the day and night," Neville smirked.

"I'm not surprised that Weasley's already made his displeasure known," Cedric said. "Did anyone else notice just how quickly he shut up when I reminded him of what I had to do to get a room here?" he asked, looking around.

"That's our Ronnikins," Harry smirked. "Wants it all, but never quite willing to do what it takes to get it on his own."

Moody snorted, not wanting to be too obvious about agreeing with Harry. "At any rate," he said, changing the subject, "now that you're here, what are we going to do about keeping up your training? Don't think I'm going to let you lot slack off just because you're back in school."

Harry and Cedric both frowned, thinking. Neville, surprisingly, was the first to speak up.

"Professor Moody, sir?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yes, lad?"

"I was wondering…since I'm also having the blocks from my magic removed and all…if I could join Harry and Cedric's training with you?"

Moody looked at the boy carefully before he spoke. The young lad reminded him more of his mother than his father, but Alice had been just as fine an Auror as Frank. "Do you think you can keep up?" he asked, wanting to test the boy's resolve a bit.

"Yes," Neville answered immediately. "I realize that it may take me some time to catch up to Harry and Cedric, but I'm willing to do what it takes," he said firmly.

Moody nodded, satisfied. He recognized the look in the boy's eyes—that was pure Alice Longbottom, and woe unto anyone who disputed the determination there.

"I'll be glad to help you as best I can," Moody answered. "Assuming that we can find a place to train, that is."

"It might be a bit difficult until the Hogsmeade people move out," Cedric mused. "After that, well, the castle will be back to having plenty of room available."

"Room of Requirement?" Harry asked, looking at Cedric.

Cedric nodded, considering. Among his notes was a detailed account of where to find each Horcrux, and the Room had been fully described therein. If what he had read (and shared with Harry, of course) was correct, then the Room should be more than capable of forming itself into a training room like they had enjoyed in London over the summer.

"I don't see why not," Cedric answered. "It's not like anyone else should be using it regularly," he finished.

"Just what the blazes are you two on about?" Mad-Eye demanded while Neville sat there, confused.

Smiling their apologies, Harry and Cedric explained about the Room, and what it should be able to do. For obvious reasons, they didn't go into the fact that they would be going there very soon themselves to retrieve the Ravenclaw diadem.

Mad-Eye appeared to be convinced, but still wanted to hold out for something a bit more permanent. "I tell you what I'll do, boys. I'll volunteer to sponsor a Dueling Club if you want to start one. We'll get Flitwick to help out, of course, and anyone else who wants, and then open it up to the entire school. That way we can train up a cadre of skilled fighters right under the Dark Lord's nose!"

"Will Dumbledore let you do that?" Harry asked, concerned for his friend.

Moody laughed, then shrugged. "I don't see why not, especially if we get Flitwick behind it! After all, he was a noted duelist in his day, and Hogwarts used to be famous for turning out some of the best in Europe." He grinned evilly. "And I can't wait until the purebloods start to complain about it, either, since dueling is one of our 'proud traditions' that has 'been allowed to fall into such disarray'!"

"But what about the Ministry?" Neville asked. "Won't they object to something like that?"

"Only those who are too stupid to realize that the Auror corps needs at least partially-trained people to feed into their training programs," Moody grumped. "These last few years, what we have gotten is pretty pitiful, in general. If I didn't know better, I'd say that it was a full-blown conspiracy between Snape and his other Death Eater friends to weaken the corps as much as possible."

"You mean, about the potions requirement?" Harry asked, barely beating Cedric to the question.

When Moody nodded, Harry and his friends shared an evil grin. "Well, about that, Professor, we might just have an idea or two…."

**A/N:** apologies for taking a bit longer with this update than I intended, but I was posting **Bound by Magic **_**or**_** Love Slaves of Diagon Alley **(now complete, and available on my profile), and then got distracted by RL. Hope you enjoy this!

As I write this, the DH movie is two months away from release. I won't be rushing to see it, although I realize that the movie will almost certainly be better than the 600+ pages of 'meh' that was the book (imho—so flame me if you wish, I don't much care), but still…. Here's the best, most succinct take I've ever seen on why the later books of canon are so disappointing, stolen from **enembee's** profile (don't know where **enembee** got it, sorry):

_"The ultimate problem was that the first few books imply that the overall story would be about a boy growing up to be a hero, and what we ultimately got was the story about a patsy who was manipulated into fulfilling someone else's overly complicated scheme to preserve the status quo of a society that didn't deserve salvation."_

The key words here are 'patsy' (yep, that's canon Harry), 'manipulated' (yep, that's canon Harry, thank you Dumbles and others), 'overly complicated scheme' (Dumbles), and the entire last phrase (yep, that's pretty much the canon wizarding world, waste of air that most of them are). Sadly, there is soooooooooo much promise in the first books that is not even close to being fulfilled in the later ones.

Of course, that's probably also why fanfiction for Harry Potter is so prevalent: there's just so much there that cries out to be fixed. Not that I would know anything about that, of course…. *puts tongue so far into cheek that it comes out ear*

Anyway, that's my rant for the day. I'll try to get another chapter up in a week or so, but no promises except that I'll try my best. Besides, you've got **Bound** to read in the meantime, and it's got **Harem Boy!Draco**….

**Next Chapter:** a long talk with Professor Flitwick, and the rebuilding of Hogsmeade commences.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** okay, I lied; the conversation with Flitwick ran longer than I intended, so no rebuilding of Hogsmeade as of yet. But, it's discussed. Lots of things that needed to be said here, tying up some loose ends and getting more ready for later chapters. And, a bit of dueling. A bit shorter than I might have liked, but I wanted to go ahead and get a chapter posted this weekend.

**Disclaimer:** still don't own nothing, still not making anything off this.

**Chapter 8**

Filius Flitwick had been Professor of Charms at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry for many years. Over the course of those years, he had seen some strange and delightfully interesting things, so when a house elf appeared in his office and invited him to meet with Lords Potter and Longbottom and Champion Diggory in the Lords Hall at his convenience he merely smiled, thanked the elf, and made his way there. In a way, he was glad for the invitation, as the disruption of the normal school schedule had left him with a great deal of time on his hands. Quite frankly, he was becoming a bit bored.

As he walked, he considered just what an odd beginning to the school year this was going to be. Putting together a set of lessons for each year to work on while they were confined to their dorms for the first week had been the work of an hour or so; his lesson plans were essentially unchanging from year to year, and it was a simple matter for him to dash off the first weeks assignments and cast the necessary duplication charms. There were times when he regretted not being able to do more, but it seemed like so few students had the desire or aptitude to reach beyond the very basic knowledge that was tested by the OWLS and NEWTS. That was one of the reasons he had been so excited when Cedric Diggory, fresh from his Triwizard win, had come to him to ask about a Charms apprenticeship. It was somewhat out of the ordinary to even discuss such a thing before a student's seventh year, but no one could say that the boy wasn't capable.

Filius had followed Diggory's appearances in the media with amusement over the summer, and had begun to suspect that a love of Charms was not the only factor motivating him to spend another few years at Hogwarts. Still, the diminutive Professor wasn't about to look a gift thestral in the mouth, so to speak, especially since it was going to give him an opportunity to teach an Advanced Charms seminar during the next few years. And, who knew? With a bit of luck, and some good publicity from young Diggory and his betrothed (and who could have foreseen that? Certainly not one Filius Q. Flitwick), perhaps there would be other apprentices to follow….

Flitwick reached the Lords Hall door, absently noting that it hadn't been there for the last several years, and stopped, stumped. How the bloody hell was he supposed to announce himself? Shrugging, he knocked and waited…and waited…and waited. Then, becoming just the slightest bit annoyed, he summoned a house elf.

"Please tell the young Lords that I'm here, and that I'd like to meet with them," he ordered, and resigned himself to more waiting.

Somewhat to his surprise, he didn't have long to wait. Within a minute the door was pulled back by a flustered Cedric Diggory.

"Oh, sorry, Professor," the young Hufflepuff said. "We weren't really expecting you to come straight away."

Filius waved his objections away casually as he entered the Hall. "Well, it's not like I had class during this time, now is it?" he said lightly. "My, this is rather nice," he went on, looking around as he followed Cedric towards an open door.

"We like it, so far," Cedric said over his shoulder, before turning and gesturing for the professor to precede him into the room. "This is actually Harry's room—mine is the one just up the hall—but we're all in here, if you'd like to join us."

"Thank you, I believe I will." Smiling and nodding, Filius walked into young Potter's quarters to see Potter, Longbottom and Alastor Moody sitting there, all of them conversing like old friends.

"Flitwick, come in, come in," Moody called out, gesturing expansively with his teacup.

"I must say, Alastor, this is something of a surprise…and since when do you drink from a common cup?" the Ravenclaw Head of House asked carefully.

"Please, Professor, come in and join us," Harry, as host, formally welcomed his Professor into the room while Moody sputtered. "Tea, sir? I'm reasonably sure that the house elves aren't trying to poison us this afternoon," he finished dryly.

"If the house elves are trying to off Potter, then we're all well and truly buggered," Moody grumped. "I'm telling you, Filius, the boy's got a way with elves like you wouldn't believe…every single one of them comes in contact with him wants to adopt him or summat, damn me if they don't."

Harry blushed furiously as Cedric joined him on one of the room's couches. "Mad-Eye, it's not like that and you know it!" he said, scolding the older man in a very familiar way while Longbottom and Diggory both snickered. "Just because I'm the only one who seems to think they need to be treated decently doesn't make them all want to adopt me!"

Very interesting, Flitwick thought, filing their interactions away for later study and contemplation while Moody just snickered into his cup. The next few minutes were taken up with the familiar, comfortable ritual of being served tea, and he was pleased to note that young Potter managed to be the perfect host, even down to asking if he preferred milk first or last.

Eventually, Filius had his tea (just the way he liked it), and could control his curiosity no longer.

"I thank you all for having me for tea, but I must confess to being a bit unclear as to just why you invited me," he said lightly.

Cedric sat up a bit before he responded. "Actually, Professor, there are a number of things which we need to speak with you about, and this seemed as good a time as any." When the diminutive Professor nodded, Diggory went on. "First, you've already noticed that there's not a good way for people to let us know they're outside the door to the Hall. Is there some way we can set up a notification charm to make it easy for people to contact us?"

Flitwick nodded, considering the problem. "I'm sure that there are several ways that we could do that, of course…I'm just not sure which way would work best for both you and your visitors. Is it something that needs to be done immediately, or can I think about it for a day or so?"

"A few days would be fine, since the Professors can always call for house elves to carry the messages," Longbottom said. "Apparently that's the way it's always been done, but I'd like some way for our friends to be able to come and visit us as well." Harry and Cedric's nods of agreement were not unexpected by either of the two Professors.

"On a related subject, we'd also like to make sets of mirrors—like we used to watch Hogsmeade—so that we can talk back and forth with our families," Harry smiled. "I've got a small hand mirror, and my godfather has the other one, but it's pretty crowded for him, Remus and Ced's parents to all talk on at the same time."

Flitwick chuckled at the mental image that produced. "I can see how that might be a bit inconvenient," he said. Then, carefully, "and, it gives me my first chance to play the part of evil taskmaster Professor," he grinned. "I seem to recall that Mr. Diggory has an interest in charms, and creating items like that will be an excellent first project for him." Ignoring the burst of laughter from Moody, Filius went on. "Yes, an excellent first project! For starts, I'd like to see between two and three feet of parchment on the charms you saw me use in the Astronomy tower, and then we'll discuss just why that particular solution will be less than optimal for the long-term use that I think you'll be wanting for your rooms here. Fair enough?"

Cedric nodded, his expression somewhat wan until Harry put his arm around him and squeezed.

"Buck up, Ced; Neville and I'll both help you, since we're going to be getting the mirrors for our own rooms, too. If that's okay with you, Professor," Harry corrected himself hurriedly.

"I suppose that will be sufficient," Flitwick replied, working hard to suppress a smile. "Still, I can already see that I'll need to be careful with giving Mr. Diggory assignments that may well become group projects. Perhaps if I were to institute an extra Charms seminar…?" he finished, baiting his little trap carefully. "I'm sure that extra credit towards your final grade could be arranged, and it certainly wouldn't hurt any of you on your OWLS or NEWTS."

Neville Longbottom jumped in before anyone else could say anything, proving once again that he had the courage of a true Gryffindor. "Professor, I know my Charms work hasn't been the best in the past, but I'd like to participate, if you'll have me."

"Certainly, certainly," Flitwick said, waving his hand. "If nothing else, your determination makes you an enjoyable student, Mr. Longbottom."

Neville nodded. "Thank you, Professor. I think you'll find that I do a bit better this year…I've gotten a new wand, and there have been some…other changes, as well," he finished cryptically.

"I think that we're all in," Harry jumped in quickly. "And, we've all undergone some fairly extensive changes this summer, which I hope will be all to the good. Still, Professor, we were also hoping to ask you to help us form a Dueling club, if it's not too much extra to ask of you."

Flitwick sat back, momentarily stunned not only by Longbottom's newfound assertiveness (and whatever else he was hinting at), but by the thought of a Dueling club. His own dueling career had come to a rather interesting end—he'd basically been forced to retire from the circuit because of a dearth of opponents willing to face him on the strip—but he had never lost his love for the sport. It had always bothered him that Dumbledore had resisted his requests to form such a club, and he'd never bought into Albus' reasons for not doing so. Certainly there was a minor risk of injury, but the same could be said about Quidditch—or Hagrid's magical creature course! The Ministry might object, true…but then again, they might not, and some of the people in London would be more than happy with such a move. The Headmaster had also objected on the grounds that it would create another source of disunity and conflict between the Houses, but Filius had always found that a bit hard to swallow—what with the blatant favoritism Albus allowed Snape to show Slytherin and his own bias towards Gryffindor, Filius didn't really see how the friction between the Houses could get much worse.

Finally, Flitwick noticed that all of the other men in the room were looking at him expectantly. "I've discussed a dueling club with the Headmaster in years past, and he's always been…less than supportive of the idea," he said carefully. What he didn't expect was the almost-snarl that Harry Potter gave in response to his statement.

"Why does that not surprise me?" the Boy-Who-Lived snapped. "Why do anything that increases the average wizard's ability to defend himself? That might make them less dependent on the 'great' Albus Too-Damned-Many-Names Dumbledore, and we certainly can't have that!" Catching himself, Harry turned away from the Charms professor, and Filius noticed that Cedric's hand crept into Harry's as he did so.

"What Potter's trying to say is that there's no good reason, especially these days," Moody tried to cover for the boy's lapse, but Flitwick wasn't having any of it.

"I think that Mr. Potter said exactly what he intended to say, and that he said what he truly believes," Filius said coolly. "Mr. Potter, your words could be interpreted as a less than ringing endorsement of our Headmaster…you realize that, I trust?"

The eyes that turned to him flashed a brilliant green, and Filius was a bit surprised (and pleased, as well) to note the determination in them. "Yes sir, I do realize that, and it is indeed what I believe. Will that be a problem for you?" Harry challenged.

Filius shrugged and sipped his tea carefully before replying. "I doubt it, Mr. Potter. If I see it becoming a problem, then you and I will discuss it like gentlemen; until then, I see no reason to disagree with you."

The room was silent for several long moments while the group digested what had happened. Finally, Flitwick broke the silence.

"As I said, I've tried on several occasions to organize a dueling group, but the Headmaster has always been opposed to the idea." He paused, gathering his thoughts. "I'm not certain that I agree with his reasons for doing so, but I suspect that they remain unchanged. Unless he can be convinced otherwise, then I'm not optimistic about our chances," he finished.

"At some point, I'd like to go over his objections with you, Professor," Harry began, "but for the moment, I'm not sure that I can arse myself to care that much. Hogwarts has had dueling clubs in the past, and there are more than a few people who would like to see her have one again."

"And some of those people are not without influence of their own," Neville added firmly.

"Not to mention the fact that the Dark Lord has returned, and we are already at war," Cedric said darkly.

"So, even if the Headmaster refuses us 'official' permission, I think that you can be certain that there will be some sort of dueling training carried out at Hogwarts this year," Harry finished firmly.

"You realize that I cannot directly challenge the Headmaster on this," Flitwick said carefully.

All three young men across from him nodded, while Moody just snorted and drank his tea. "We wouldn't ask you to, Professor," Cedric said.

"If worse comes to worse, then all we can ask is that you not fight us on this," Harry asked. "Can you do that?"

Flitwick nodded, thinking furiously. There was obviously more going on here than he knew, and he found himself thrilled at the thought of discovering just exactly what it was. "I can certainly promise that, at the very least," he said. Then, he decided to take a risk. "There's something going on here that you're not telling me, isn't there?" he asked, giving the others an opening.

The glances that went around the room were…interesting, to say the least. Finally, Harry spoke for the group.

"Professor, there is a tremendous amount happening 'behind the scenes', as it were, and there are parts of it that no one—not the Headmaster, or the Minister, or the Dark Lord—can find out about." Harry shrugged. "Still, there are some things that we'd like to, even need to tell you, but we'll need an oath of secrecy from you first. Oh, don't worry," he said quickly, seeing Flitwick about to object. "We won't ask you to keep any secrets which would endanger any students here, or Hogwarts herself. We just need to protect ourselves, and other people, as much as we possibly can."

"I believe I understand, Mr. Potter. Now, shall we set the terms of my oath?" Filius asked, carefully drawing his wand.

* * *

"What do you mean, 'a few more days'?"

Albus Dumbledore's voice echoed in the confines of his small office, his ire directed at the portly man seated across from him.

"I meant exactly what I said, Albus," Cornelius Fudge snapped, equally angry.

"What the Minister hoped was that…" Percy Weasley began, only to be ignored by both of the older men in the room.

"I cannot have the workings of this school disturbed because you are not able to find adequate housing for the refugees of Hogsmeade," Dumbledore spat.

"And I fail to see how providing humanitarian assistance—using space that, by your own admission was lying vacant—for another few days is so impossible for the 'Great' Albus Dumbledore. After all, aren't you supposed to be the 'Leader of the Light'?" Fudge sneered. "Or did you give up that title when the ICW tossed you out on your bum?"

Dumbledore hid his rage at being reminded of his defrocking as Supreme Mugwump behind a terse frown. "You forgot to mention that I am also no longer Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot," he said hotly.

"I certainly haven't forgotten that," Fudge retorted. "How convenient…you removed yourself from any position of authority, along with any responsibility for helping me to manage this crisis, just in the nick of time. I wonder, did your pet seer tip you off, Albus? And, if so, then why didn't you see fit to provide a warning to the Ministry that might have prevented this attack in the first place?"

"You know very well that had I given you such a warning, you would have ignored it," Dumbledore replied. "But just to set your mind at ease, no, I had no advance warning of an attack on Hogsmeade from Professor Trelawney," he added flatly. There, he thought, let Cornelius make of that what he will.

The Minister's eyes narrowed. "Would you be willing to take an oath on your magic to that effect? Or testify under Veritiserum?"

Dumbledore sighed, and nodded. "Yes, of course, Cornelius. However, I would think that we've known each other long enough that such extreme measures wouldn't be necessary between us."

Fudge deflated a bit, then nodded himself. "I suppose you're right, Albus. The last few months haven't been easy on either of us, have they?" he asked, a small, engaging smile playing about his lips. Come on, Albus, he thought, we're stronger if we work together on this one, surely you can see that!

Albus let his face relax as he let the Minister think he was going along with Fudge's ploy to mend their fences. "You're certainly correct about the last few months, Cornelius. Now, shall we stop posturing and figure out how best to manage this disaster?"

"Quite. Now, I know that it's a terrible inconvenience for you, harboring several hundred people here in the castle, but I assure you that you'll be reimbursed just as soon as the Wizengamot authorizes the funds."

Albus stroked his beard, giving the appearance of thinking hard. "I'm heartened to hear you say that, Cornelius, but I'm afraid our circumstances are more dire than that. It may be weeks before the Wizengamot selects a new Chief Warlock or Witch, and they have to do that before they can act on any other business, no matter how urgent. We need supplies, and the funds to purchase them now, not a month from now."

"I can call an emergency meeting of the Wizengamot in three days time, and then do everything I can to push through an emergency funding measure," Fudge offered.

Dumbledore shook his head. "I appreciate that doing so is the best that can be done on that front, Minister, but that's still too long. The castle will begin running out of food within the next day or so, barring replenishment."

"It really is that bad? I had thought that you would have enough on hand for several weeks, at least…" Fudge trailed off.

At the miserable and uncertain look on Fudge's face, Dumbledore had to laugh. "Several weeks? Oh, no, Cornelius…the days when we maintained stockpiles that extensive are long past! After all, it's not like we were expecting a siege, now is it? No, the castle is dependent—too dependent, I now see with the perfect vision that hindsight gives—on regular shipments via the railway, and the storage that the warehouses in Hogsmeade afforded us."

The Headmaster paused, then went on. "I can't say that I would have done anything differently, at the time the measure was proposed by the Governors, actually. It was done as a cost-saving measure, and I'm sure that you, of all people, Cornelius, can appreciate the need to make a budget stretch as far as possible. Certainly, it's reduced waste from spoilage and such, but the sad truth is that we only keep about a weeks' worth of supplies in the castle at any given time. In any ordinary year that would be more than enough to carry us through any storm or other natural incident, but this…" Albus waved his hand toward the window. "This attack caught us unawares, and quiet unprepared."

"I see," the Minister said glumly. Fortunately, Percy was quick on the uptake, and continued to sit in silence while his betters argued matters between themselves.

"There is one thing that you can do immediately that would be of great help," Dumbledore said softly.

The Minister's face lit up, then clouded as he realized just what the Headmaster was about to bring up. "Yes?"

"The Ministry's Emergency Fund…as Minister, you are the only one who can release galleons from that Fund, and this certainly qualifies as the type of emergency it was designed to be used for," Dumbledore's voice was soft, compelling.

Fudge shifted uncomfortably. If a true accounting of the Emergency Fund was ever made, and certain transfers to certain vaults were ever brought to light, it would not go well for one Cornelius Fudge. Still, he would almost certainly not be able to refuse a formal request from Dumbledore without calling the integrity of the Fund into question. The only question in Fudge's mind, in fact, was just how much of his 'personal retirement fund' could he transfer back to the Emergency Fund without being caught red-handed.

"I suppose that we have no alternative but to use the Emergency Fund, Albus," Fudge sighed. "But, I'm worried about dipping into it too deeply. Who knows just what else may come along in the next few days, and also need the Fund? Once it's gone, it's gone, until the Wizengamot meets again…and we've both just been reminded that the Wizengamot may not be fully functioning again for several weeks."

Albus sat quietly, his suspicions about the Emergency Fund now confirmed. "Alas, Cornelius, I fear that you are correct in your fears for the future. Still, some modest disbursement from the Fund, done immediately, will accomplish much in the next few days."

"I'll see to it as soon as I'm back in my office," Cornelius nodded his agreement. "I'll release five thousand galleons today—that should keep you in tea and scones for at least the next couple of days, I should think—and then let you send me estimates for other supplies in a day or so. Also, there will be at least some supplies coming up tomorrow morning; medical supplies, mostly, with some blankets and other things, as promised. Fair enough?" he asked.

"Fair enough, and I think you," Albus agreed. "Now, about housing for these poor people…."

"We're looking into alternatives," Fudge sighed. "We've put out an appeal for tents, and released virtually the entire stock of Auror tents."

"A good start," Dumbledore agreed openly, knowing full well that it was completely inadequate for the numbers of people that needed housing. "I wonder…have there been any offers of assistance from other countries?"

Fudge waved his hand in dismissal at the thought. "A few…France and Germany have made the usual noises, and the Italians offered three stadium tents."

"I see. And the Canadians, and Americans?"

"About what you'd expect. The Canadians offered to release some of their military housing tents, and the Americans basically asked what we needed so that they would know what to send. I've refused all of their offers, of course," Fudge said, decisively.

"WHAT?" Albus couldn't stop himself, but rapidly controlled his emotions. "Cornelius, whatever for? The French, and possibly the Germans, I can see, but the rest…? Oh, of course, they'll make all manner of tiresome boasts, but why not let the other countries do what they will for us?"

"Because I refuse to let this country look weak before the international community!" Fudge thundered. "They need to know that Great Britain can take care of itself!" He thumped the arm of his chair to emphasize the point.

"'They' meaning the world's nations, or 'they' meaning the agents of Voldemort that destroyed Hogsmeade?" Dumbledore asked, his gaze penetrating.

"Yes," Fudge replied, refusing to meet the Headmaster's eyes. "To both." The silence that followed was filled by the quiet whirring and clinking of the Headmaster's various devices as the Minister sat there squirming under his scrutiny.

"NO, Albus," Fudge eventually thundered. "Just…no! I…we can't afford," he caught himself, quickly correcting his mistake, "to appear to be unable to manage our own affairs. Especially not after having our premier wizard removed from the leadership of the ICW! If we are to maintain our position as the preeminent wizarding country, then this must appear to be nothing more than a minor distraction. For Merlin's sake, we are the home of Merlin! Avalon herself! No, I won't have it, not on my watch!"

"So this is all about appearances, especially your appearance, is that it, Minister?" Dumbledore asked softly.

Fudge snorted contemptuously. "Don't even pretend to go there with me, Albus bloody Dumbledore! I've watched you play your own games for far too long, so don't talk to me about keeping up appearances. Your resignation as Chief Warlock has done exactly what you wanted it to do, and now this attack will have half of the sheep begging you to resume your seat." A calculating look came over his face. "You do realize, I hope, that if someone were to make that connection in the pages of the _Prophet_, you could deny it until Arthur comes back and a certain element would _never_ believe the you didn't have advance warning of the attack. Oh, not me, of course," the Minister gave what he probably thought was a predatory smile but only managed to make him look constipated. "I believe you when you said that you had no advance notice, even though you've managed to know pretty much everything that's happened on this Island before it's happened for the last forty years. Still, the timing is just a bit…suspicious, don't you think?"

"Minister, I assure you…" Dumbledore rumbled, only to be cut off. His anger was carefully hidden, but for the Minister to come so near the truth—it had been Snape, and not Trelawney, who warned him of the attack, after all—set him on edge.

"Enough, Albus! There's no advantage to me in having the people turn on either one of us now, and we both know it." For the moment, at least, Fudge thought, knowing full well that the Headmaster was thinking exactly the same thing.

"Agreed, Cornelius. However, what I was about to suggest is to accept at least some aid from our neighbors, and use that to strengthen our own position _vis a vis_ the return of the Dark Lord."

Fudge squirmed in his seat at that. "Albus, even though I don't see how it's possible, I've already told you that I intend to appoint a committee to investigate the possibility, and I'm going to put you on that committee. I don't think you should chair it, for a number of reasons, but after this attack I want you to be on it."

"For now, I think that will be adequate," Dumbledore agreed.

"I still don't really understand how it could have happened, though," Fudge was shaking his head. "I mean, didn't Potter destroy You-Know-Who fifteen years ago? If he truly was destroyed, then why didn't he stay that way?"

"Cornelius, I think the most reasonable explanation is ancient, Dark magic, the likes of which we haven't seen for many years," the Headmaster's voice was almost gentle. "Without going into too many details, I believe that he was able to anchor his spirit to this plane, and then had his followers perform a Dark ritual at the end of the Triwizard Tournament to resurrect him in a newly constructed body; just as Mr. Potter described."

Fudge shuddered at the very thought. "I would hope that the committee's report wouldn't go into great detail about just what he might have done," he muttered. "We'd have every nutter and hag trying to do the very same thing, and that would be nothing short of a disaster."

"Especially since the method I'm afraid Tom used requires multiple murders as an initial step," Dumbledore nodded, giving Fudge fresh shivers.

"So, can I expect to have to seal away large portions of your report under a Most Secret classification?" he asked carefully. "That won't look good in the press, you know."

"Don't concern yourself about that, Cornelius. If you appoint a group of reasonable people to the committee," meaning people we can both easily manipulate, Albus thought, "then I believe that a report can be created which will contain enough of the truth to satisfy the general population without creating more problems for us."

Fudge gnawed on his bottom lip as he thought about that, then he nodded. "I think I can come up with a suitable group," he said.

"And, since Voldemort," Albus went on smoothly, ignoring Fudge's shudder at the name, "is using such Dark magic, he represents a threat comparable to Grindelwald. That being the case, involving our allies now rather than later makes us look appropriately vigilant rather than weak, don't you think? If nothing else, present this latest attack as the work of a terrorist group using his symbol and methods to generate fear."

"Mmm," Fudge made a noncommittal noise. "I suppose that one could view it that way."

"Of course they will. Rather than be the Minister that did nothing while another Dark Lord rose to power, you'll be the Minister who acted calmly and decisively to block his rise at an early stage. The international community won't thank us if Voldemort manages to crush the Ministry and move out across the globe, after all. There's no doubt that anyone who's capable of what he's already done represents a global threat—so why not stop him here, early on, before he causes any more needless deaths? If nothing else, perhaps a strong statement by you will cause the other nations to raise their level of watchfulness at their borders." The Headmaster's argument, delivered in measured tones, was very persuasive.

"I suppose that material aid wouldn't be amiss," the Minister said, almost to himself. "We've had several offers of military-grade field kitchens as well as portable wizarding housing, which should take the pressure off of your house elves."

"And I'm sure that there are ample supplies in that offer, as well, which will take a great deal of pressure off of the Emergency Fund, as well," the Headmaster smiled.

"That it will, Albus, that it will," Fudge smiled back.

And in his chair off to one side, Percy Weasley sat there, taking mental notes and learning just how the masters played the game between themselves.

* * *

Filius sat back, completely and totally gobsmacked at what he had just been told.

He had been more than a bit surprised when, after offering to give a magical oath to protect the group's secrets, his future apprentice had bluntly asked him about his Occulumency skills. Fortunately, he supposed, he was an adequate Occulumens but only a middling-fair Legilimens. After a quick check by young Diggory (and just when had the Hufflepuff learned that particular skill?), his shields had been pronounced acceptable.

After that, his oath had seemed to be a mere formality, and was only to keep secret such information as he should be told in this meeting, until such time as either Potter or Diggory released him from that oath.

Given that Longbottom and Alastor Moody both showed no signs of leaving, he wasn't too concerned about what he was about to be told.

Then, he heard the prophecy about Harry Potter and the Dark Lord.

Next, he heard from young Potter about his relatives, and his time spent with the Dursleys. At the description of the cupboard under the stairs, he went from shocked to fuming. He was visibly shaken at the description of 'Harry Hunting', and very nearly had to be physically restrained at the description of the ongoing physical and mental abuse, even after Harry's first year at Hogwarts.

His demands to know just why this was allowed to continue were met with a plea to finish hearing the tale, and then Cedric told the Charms professor about the findings by Dr. Latour in Paris, at the beginning of the summer. This led them to a somewhat-edited recounting of the events of the past few months, and finally to their discussion—calmly, almost without emotion—of their 'magical bomb' theory.

That young Longbottom, another possible 'victim' of the prophesy, had a similar blockage on his magical core only served as additional evidence for their theory in Filius' eyes.

Flitwick was not fool enough to believe that he had been given the full accounting—there were still elements of the story that Potter and Diggory carefully skirted—but what was given to him was more than enough to make him seriously question the actions and motivations of the Headmaster. On the other hand, certain things that he had noted over the past few years suddenly made much more sense, in light of the boy's theory.

The hiding of the Philosopher's Stone in the castle…the true fate of Miss Weasley, Slytherin's 'Heir'...all of the bother surrounding the escape of Sirius Black, and the curious brouhaha at the end of the Triwizard were now explained to Filius in a way that brought all of the pieces together nicely. Ravenclaw to the core, he had been…not exactly worried, but disconcerted was perhaps the best word…about a number of things; things which now were coming into focus.

Certainly the Headmaster was a master manipulator, Flitwick had seen that all too often over the years and dismissed it as one of the great man's eccentricities. Now, knowing how Harry, and Neville, and the entire school had been placed in danger not once but multiple times was enough to bring his blood close to the boiling point. But, he realized, now was not the time for irrational actions; quite the opposite, in fact.

Taking a deep breath, Filius looked around carefully at the faces before him, then spoke.

"I suppose that I should ask if you have any concrete evidence of what you've just told me," he asked, expecting a negative answer.

"Not at this time, no, but we expect an analysis of Harry's wand to show the blocks we described, and those blocks will be linked to the Headmaster's magical signature," Cedric said quietly. "We can also provide you with Healer LaTour's records, or arrange for you to meet with him, if necessary."

Flitwick nodded. "I would like to see that evidence when you have it," he answered, just as softly. "As for the rest…" he shrugged, dismissing the idea.

"You will, Professor," Potter was speaking to him now. "We hope that the entire country sees it, eventually. For now, Madam Bones has my old wand, and we'll be providing her with a sample of the Headmaster's magical signature within the next few days for comparison."

"I suppose I should be asking just where you obtained a copy of the Headmaster's signature, but I don't think I really need to know," Filius smiled. "I think that I'll just trust Madam Bones to verify it, and let it go at that. So," he said, leaning forward in his eagerness. "I suspect that the motivation behind your request for a dueling club is to receive more training before you have to face the Dark Lord, eh, Mr. Potter?"

"Harry, please, Professor, while it's just us," Harry asked, smiling. "And it's not just me, but Cedric, and Neville, and most of our friends, too. Voldemort's shown himself more than capable of sending his Death Eaters against innocents, so there won't be any such thing as 'noncombatants' in the days to come."

"Just being at Hogwarts makes us all targets," Longbottom said. "The better training we have, the more likely we are to come out of this mess alive, and with all of our bits attached."

"Or most of them, at any rate," Moody snickered, then ducked when Harry threw a pillow at him. "Watch it, Potter," he growled, then snickered again when Harry stuck his tongue out at the old Auror. "You see, Filius," he said, turning to the other Professor, "I've had almost the entire summer to work on the cheeky brat, and this is the best he can do!"

"Somehow I doubt that," Flitwick said dryly. "But, that does bring up a very important question. When we start dueling, just where will you all be starting from? If I know this old pirate here," he waved nonchalantly at a grinning Moody, "he won't have just taught you tickling jinxes and cheering charms."

"Not exactly," Cedric grinned. "Why don't we go somewhere, and show you? I could use the exercise," he said, standing and stretching.

"I don't see why not," Flitwick said, casting a quick Tempus. "We've several hours until supper, if you can suggest an appropriate place."

"I think we can do that," Harry said, jumping up and heading for the door.

* * *

"Well, I learn something new every day," Filius said as they stepped into the Room of Requirement.

The Room had given them a standard dueling hall, complete with elevated strip. Instead of the customary seats to either side, there were padded mats, and four chairs off to one side. A sideboard well away from the dueling area had towels, chilled pitchers of water and neatly stacked glasses. It was well lit, and plain tapestries on the walls served to mute the sound. In short, it had everything that Filius could want for a training area.

"Harry, why don't you and Cedric have a go while the rest of us watch," Moody suggested.

"You're sure you don't need the practice, old man?" Harry asked, grinning, as he shucked his robe. The plain shirt and slacks he wore were more than he usually dueled in, but wouldn't limit his movement noticeably.

"I think he's afraid that you'll hit him with the Rainbow Bum," Cedric quipped, then dodged that same spell from Mad-Eye. "Oi!" he yelped.

"Constant Vigilance!" Moody laughed, keeping his wand out and free. "You dodged, didn't you?"

"Oh, just wait," Cedric smirked. "One day soon you'll be in class, and I'll be able to hex you without fear of anything other than points and detention."

"As if that would stop me," Moody mock-snarled. "You see what I've been up against, Filius," he said. "Mouthy, cheeky, insolent brats, the both of them."

"Oh, the burden it must have been," Filius said dryly, hiding his smile at the byplay. Certainly something had gone on over the summer to build such an easy rapport between the prickly auror and the two boys. Then, seeing both of them de-robed and in position, he stepped up to the edge of the strip.

"Why don't we start with a three minute duel? Continental rules, if you please," he said, noting with pleasure that both boys nodded in understanding. Moody's teaching, no doubt. "You may begin on the count of three. One…two…three!"

The short man jumped back as spells immediately flew in both directions as Harry and Cedric leaped into action. Prudently, Filius retreated behind a shield that Moody was maintaining for himself and young Longbottom, barely remembering to cast the timing charm as he watched the display between the two young men.

It was not the most impressive display that Flitwick had ever seen. Of course, he had seen some of the world's best go head to head in the Internationals (and won more than once, himself). Still, for young men of Cedric's and Harry's ages, he was more than impressed at what he saw.

The match didn't quite go the full three minutes, as Harry managed to slip a frictionless curse onto the strip behind Cedric, then force him onto it with a nicely arranged barrage of curses. A single instant's slip while the older boy struggled for balance was enough for him to be swept off his feet then disarmed.

Smiling and laughing, Harry gently lowered his boyfriend to the ground, dodging a swat as he returned his wand.

"Git…I want a rematch!' Cedric protested, but he was smiling, too.

"Sod that! You almost had me with that triple banishing hex/disarming combo," Harry laughed. "Besides, now it's Moody's turn," he grinned evilly.

"Why don't you let Professor Flitwick talk first, ingrates," Moody growled, then turned to his fellow Professor.

"Well, I think that you've both obviously done some work with a fair to adequate tutor recently," he began, just to get a rise out of Moody. "Still, I think that I can work out the flaws he's obviously ingrained in you, and make respectable duelers out of you," he finished.

He was gratified to see the expression on Alastor's face at Harry's and Cedric's laughter.

* * *

Some time later, Flitwick called a halt. After several more duels, pitting different combinations against one another, he had a reasonably good feel for the dueling styles of the three boys, and a new appreciation for Mad-Eye Moody's teaching skills. He had watched Harry and Cedric duel once more, then Neville against each of them twice; then he had asked Moody to duel first Cedric, then Harry, then Neville. Finally, Flitwick himself had briefly faced off against all three boys, then yielded to their demands (and pouts) by dueling Mad-Eye.

The boys were nothing short of amazed, Neville especially, at seeing what a real duel, between two professionals, was like. The spells flew fast and furious, almost faster than the eye could follow, before Flitwick managed to slip an odd disarming spell past Moody's guard.

"Damn you, stunty," Moody grumped. "You're too short to make a decent target."

"And you're too easy, you and your fake leg, stumpy," Flitwick replied casually. "I see that you haven't lost your touch, Alastor."

"You, either, Filius. And that variant of the jelly-legs that hit my arm, that was a cruel way to make me drop my wand."

"Worked well though, didn't it?" Filius smiled as Moody only snorted at him.

When they finished (and he had shown the others the variant charm he'd defeated Moody with), Flitwick gave them his assessment of their skills. Harry and Cedric were clearly far beyond Neville, although the young Gryffindor showed great promise in his own right. Neville was obviously still adjusting to the rapid changes in his magical core and his new wand, but that would smooth out quite nicely in another few months. Each of them had their own style: Harry tended to be more mobile and acrobatic, Cedric more varied in his choice of spells, while Neville tended to just stand there and block or bat aside everything that came his way.

"It's an old Longbottom family spell," he had explained. "It wraps your wand and forearm in a type of shield, making them into the magical equivalent of a Beater's bat." Of course, he then had to share the spell around, but only after they promised to keep it to themselves.

Flitwick had, of necessity, been shown the groups' LeGrande-made toys, and had been seriously impressed with all of them. He was especially impressed with Harry's bracelets, and the amulets that he and Neville wore.

"Beautiful work, simply beautiful…and Alastor, you and this 'Little Jacque' person charmed the amulets together?" he asked, his eyes bright with interest.

"Only Potters," Moody answered. "The Frog did Neville's himself, after I showed him how," he grinned. "Damned if he doesn't do good work, though," he said, running his hand down his artificial leg.

"So I see," Flitwick agreed.

"Professor, we'll be making a trip to Paris again in a week or so; would you like to come with us?" Harry offered. "I'm sure that Little Jacque would be delighted to make you a wand, or anything that you might want."

"I just might take you up on that offer," Filius smiled. "If for no other reason than to talk with your friend about charms, and enchanting the objects he sells. As for a wand, well…I've been using mine for so long now, I don't think I'd feel right about using anything else," he explained.

That naturally led Harry to show off his chopstick 'wands', which Flitwick marveled over briefly before laughing brightly. A brief explanation of why he was carrying them had the Professor nodding his understanding.

"So, Harry, I take it that when you're brandishing these pretty pieces of wood in my class, you're actually using your bracelets to cast?"

"Yes, sir," Harry grinned, nodding.

"Very well…even an old Ravenclaw like me can see the need for a bit of misdirection here and there. Very nice, I must say."

The group was heading for the door for much-needed freshening up before the evening meal when Flitwick asked Cedric to stay behind for a minute. Sending the others on with a wave, he turned and saw that the Professor had conjured (or the Room had provided) two comfortable chairs.

"Cedric, I wanted to speak with you briefly about your apprenticeship," Flitwick began when they were seated. "I realize that, technically, your Triwizard win after having taken your OWLS makes you a fully-qualified wizard in the Ministry's eyes, but I do want you to sit for your NEWTS, regardless." He paused, his eyes narrowing a bit as he went on. "I also wish that Harry had already sat his OWLS before the Tournament. That would have removed any question about his actions over the summer, and made that silly trial unnecessary. Still, you both handled it well, so…" the diminutive man shrugged. "At any rate, I'd like you to go ahead and sit your NEWTS in the normal fashion."

Cedric nodded. "I'd planned on it, sir, if you'd allow it."

The Professor smiled once more. "Good, good. I know that there are all manner of benefits to being the Champion, since that used to be the only way to get people to compete in the damned thing, but I also believe that getting your NEWTS in the proper time will do you more good than not in the long run. With that in mind, I don't think it appropriate for me to expect you to formally begin your apprenticeship until after that time. Oh, make no mistake, I intend to use you from time to time as a teaching assistant for the first years, and I'll expect you to participate in the Advanced Charms seminar I'll be starting, but otherwise I suspect that you'll be quite busy with everything else on your plate this year." He stopped, looking at the young Hufflepuff carefully.

Cedric nodded. Really, it was nothing more or less than he'd expected, and Flitwick's demands on his time shouldn't be too onerous. Still….

"Sir, you realize that there's nothing more important to me than preparing to fight Voldemort," he said finally. "Everything else has to take a backseat to that."

"Oh, of course! I fully understand that," Flitwick said. "And, I intend to do everything in my power to prepare you boys, especially Harry, for the tasks ahead. I really don't see why Albus hasn't been doing more to train Harry, but that's not something either of us can change now," he said, huffing a bit in his irritation at the Headmaster. "I also see the need for all of us, yourself included, to keep up certain appearances…and that includes _not_ having people think that Harry is training eighteen hours a day to defeat the Dark Lord."

Cedric pursed his lips, considering what his mentor was saying. "I think you're absolutely right," he finally said. "So, we need to look like we're doing nothing special, so that we can be training right under their noses." I wasn't really a question.

"Exactly! Who knows, this 'power the Dark Lord knows not' may be nothing more than dueling training from myself as well as Alastor…and I believe that we can almost certainly convince certain other faculty members to help us without endangering our 'covers'."

"I'm not willing to tell everyone what we told you today," Cedric objected, only to have Filius wave his hand in dismissal at the very idea.

"Oh, certainly not! No, you were absolutely right to insist on my oath, even though I think that you did the intelligent thing by bringing in myself, as a faculty member, as soon as possible. No, I believe that Septima Vector, and perhaps Pomona Sprout might agree to help out as dueling partners, and that would give you three some exposure to varied styles of fighting."

"Professor Vector I can understand, but…Professor Sprout, sir?" Cedric blurted, then blushed.

Filius chuckled. "I know, it doesn't seem like Pomona—full-figured lady that she is, bless her—would be much of a challenge, does it? I think you'll be pleasantly surprised to see just what she can do with a wand. And, if you're foolish enough to duel her around any kind of foliage, then you deserve what you get!"

Cedric looked thoughtful. Well, it only made sense that a Herbologist of Sprout's statue would be a terror in any kind of garden or woodland duel. He shook himself, and may him pay attention to what else Flitwick was saying.

"I'd like to bring in Minerva, and especially Severus, but I have concerns about both of them," the Charms Professor said. "Minerva, because she is well and truly Albus' deputy, and everything she knows, he knows. Severus is an excellent dueler, and would probably be the next choice after myself as an instructor among the regular faculty, but…" he trailed off.

"Snape's marked," Cedric said flatly.

"Indeed."

"I think that we may be able to trust Professor Snape," Cedric said carefully, thinking about just how much of his 'advance knowledge' he could reveal without saying too much. "We've already discussed salvaging the basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets, and…."

"Wait! You said a basilisk? You know where the Chamber is?" Flitwick interrupted eagerly.

Cedric looked a bit confused as he explained. "Yes, sir, the basilisk that Harry killed in his second year, in the Chamber. As far as we know, it's still there, waiting to be salvaged and rendered into potion ingredients and other parts. Didn't you know about it?"

Flitwick looked fit to be tied. "I most certainly did not! Albus was never quite forthcoming about just what had happened during that entire year…the official story was some rot about a cursed item possessing one of the students, and the item's power being used to petrify all of those poor people."

"And Mrs. Norris," Cedric snickered.

"And Mrs. Norris," Filius agreed. "No one every said anything about a bloody basilisk!"

"Well, you'll have to ask Harry for the full story, but there was a cursed item involved, and Harry did kill Slytherin's basilisk with the Sword of Gryffindor at the end of his second year."

"Sweet Maeve's saggy ti…er, yes," Flitwick caught himself. "Slytherin's basilisk must have been a thousand years old…just how big was the monster?"

"We don't know for sure. Harry thinks it's about 50 or 60 feet, but we'll measure it when we get down there." Cedric shrugged.

"Please do…and take photographs, lots of them. Even dead, such a beast needs to be documented." Filius was stunned at what he was hearing. Merlin! What else had the Boy-Who-Lived done?

"We will," Cedric assured him. "We've promised Professor Snape a bit of the venom—50 or 60 drams—as well as some of the rest of it, in return for his agreement to help us prepare for what's to come." He carefully didn't mention Snape's oath to Harry, knowing that it was one of those things that shouldn't be shared.

Flitwick sat back, gobsmacked. 50 drams of basilisk venom was several years' salary for a Hogwarts Professor, not to mention the 'other parts'. For a Potions Master like Snape, such a windfall would be literally beyond price. If anything could buy Severus' loyalty, that would be it.

The Charms Professor exhaled deeply. "Yes, I can see where that might bring Professor Snape over to your side," he said. "Also, if you need any help in butchering the carcass, I'll be glad to lend a hand. Of course, you're going to use a crew from Gringotts," he said.

"I…suppose," Cedric answered. "We really hadn't thought about getting the goblins to help, but I guess that's the most reasonable thing to do."

"It's the only reasonable thing to do, actually. The goblins will help protect Mr. Potter's salvage rights, as he was actually the one to slay the beast. Otherwise, the Board of Governors may try to claim right of possession based on location, which would tie the whole matter up on legal proceedings for months, if not longer. I have…family…among the goblin tribes who might be of use to you, if you'd like me to contact them?" he said carefully.

"That would be…very good of you, sir," Cedric said softly. It was a well-known rumor that Flitwick was part-goblin, but this was the first time he'd actually heard the man himself confirm it.

"Yes, well, wait until after you hear what they'll want to charge before you thank me," Flitwick remarked. "In the meantime, I believe that we should both be on our way…I, for one, would like something a bit more refreshing than a _Scourgify_ before I eat."

Laughing, Cedric led the way from the Room of Requirement, then shut the door behind them.

**A/N:** Flitwick is one of those characters that I'm trying to bring to the fore a bit more than usual, just because I think he's got a lot of potential. We know just enough about him to make me want to know more—'dash' of goblin blood, dueling champion when younger, etc. I also needed to 'fix' the fact that Ced's 'fully qualified' because he's a Triwizzer but Harry's not—fortunately, nobody caught me before I got that taken care of. *neener neener* There are a few more little things like that (Ced's age and apprenticeship, for example) that either are fixed already or will be fixed soon (I hope). I'm trying to keep things as 'tight' as possible, but with writing then posting and NO editor but myself, I sometimes slip…so keep me honest, guys. Many of you already do, and I think you for it (and you know who you are, '**kitty** and others).

I'm trying to do ~10K words/week, but RL is also picking up, for good and ill. So, bear with me. Also, HP and the Cliché of Death is NOT abandoned, I want to come back and do more work on it, but I can't do it all at once. I HATE abandoned fics, so I'll get to it…but I want to do more with this…and I've got several NEW plot bunnies...and…and…and….

Anyway, reviews feed the bunnies, and give the author the warm fuzzies that let him persevere.

**Next Chapter:** more talks with Professors, and the rebuilding process begins (this time I MEAN it!).


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Dinner in the Great Hall…McGonagall and Sprout are invited to the Lords Hall…the rebuilding of Hogsmeade commences with the reopening of The Three Broomsticks! (see, I TOLD you I meant it!)

**Disclaimer:** no change, if you see something you don't recognize, I probably don't own it, either. Well, except for those characters that I've created out of whole cloth to fit into JKR's sandbox…and them, I don't much worry about because they're part and parcel of the AU sandbox that this story plays in.

**Chapter 9**

_Denotes Flashback_

Cedric hurried back to his room on the Lords Hall, and had just enough time to shower and change before meeting his boyfriend at the Hall entrance for the evening meal.

"Did you and Flitwick have fun talking about us behind our backs?" Harry teased. His hair was still a bit damp from the shower, but he'd taken the time to put on one of his nicer outfits under his better school robes, and looked every inch the part of young wizarding Lord. The fine white Egyptian cotton of his shirt was a nice contrast to the silk of his Gryffindor tie, and his black slacks and shiny shoes completed a look that was not at all similar to the raggedly scarecrow that had come to Hogwarts from the Dursleys' tender care.

"Is there some reason you're making me feel horribly underdressed tonight?" Cedric asked. He'd only put on his 'regular' uniform, which was still a cut above the usual Hogwarts wear, but compared to Harry he looked plain indeed. Cedric smiled as he said it, reveling in the look and aura of confidence his Harry radiated.

"Not really," Harry shrugged. "I just decided to play a bit of dress-up this evening. Neville, too," he said, nodding at his friend who was just coming out of his room in his own upper-end gear.

"Evening, Cedric," Neville nodded. "We've still got a couple of minutes before service starts, if you want to go change."

"Go on, Ced, we'll wait," Harry smiled, pulling his hair back and locking it in place with a jade clasp.

Dashing back into his room, Cedric tore off his clothes, snatched another, nicer set from his wardrobe and threw it on. Leaving his former outfit strewn across the bed, he hurried back into the Hall once more.

"Just a minute," he grumbled, still putting himself together.

"Take your time," Neville said imperturbably. He stood there calmly, and Cedric got the impression that he could have stood there until the end of time had the need come up.

"Here, let me help," Harry said gently, brushing his boyfriend's hands aside, his own nimble fingers fastening buttons, straightening lapels and in general making everything fall into place with an ease that made Cedric suspect a touch of magic was involved. "Now, you look quite dashing, Mr. Diggory. Don't you agree, Lord Longbottom?"

"I refuse to answer on the grounds that I make it a point never to compliment a friend's betrothed when it might get me hexed," Neville deadpanned.

Harry just snickered at that, while Cedric found himself blushing to the tips of his ears.

"Are we all ready, then?" Neville asked, giving Cedric a wink where Harry couldn't see.

"Yes, quite," Harry laughed, opening the door to the Lords Hall.

None of them expected him to duck back to avoid Hermione Granger's fist.

"Wha…? Harry leaped back, narrowly avoiding a sore nose.

"Honestly, Harry…we've been knocking for almost five minutes! Didn't you hear us?" Hermione had obviously spent most of those five minutes working herself into a right state. Judging from the looks Ron was giving the three (and their outfits), he was rapidly getting himself into a similar state.

"Actually, no," Harry said, recovering himself quickly. "And, we were standing right here, waiting on Cedric to finish changing. Isn't that right, Neville?"

"Harry's right, Hermione," Neville said, his calm expression barely changing. "Neither of us heard a thing. Of course, had we heard, we'd have opened the door to see who was there, but…" he shrugged. "I wonder if there's not some silencing charm on the door, because it doesn't look that thick."

"All the more reason why we need to get with Flitwick to see about some kind of call system," Cedric put in firmly. "Granger, we've already spoken to him once about it, so we're aware of the problem and have begun to address it. Until we have a solution, you'll just have to call a house elf, like the Professors do when they want to speak with us."

"I'm not going to abuse a house elf's time just to chat with you, Cedric Diggory," Hermione spat.

"Then I guess I'll just enjoy the peace and quiet," Cedric grinned as he moved past her, pulling Harry along with him. "Coming, Neville?" he asked.

"What's the special occasion?" Ron demanded, moving with the three friends. "You three are all dressed to the nines…is there something happening you're not telling us about?"

Harry just shrugged. "Not that I know of, Ron. I just wanted to wear something a bit nicer than usual tonight, and told Neville…."

"And I thought it was a brilliant idea, and then we made Cedric play along, too," Neville said.

"Compared to wearing Dudley's cast-offs, this is such a pleasant change," Harry smiled happily. "It's nice just to be able to look nice every now and then."

Hermione didn't say anything (mainly because she understood the feeling), but Ron just growled "whatever". To him, what Harry was saying was a direct cut at his family's poverty, and the fact that he didn't have anything even remotely of the caliber of what Harry was wearing so casually. It never crossed his mind that Harry was making up for years of wearing clothes far inferior to those that Molly and Arthur provided for him.

Because of the Lords Hall's proximity to the Great Hall, the uncomfortable walk only lasted a few minutes. As they entered the Hall, Cedric stopped Harry and Neville with a gentle touch, letting the Gryffindor Prefects go ahead of them.

"Harry, Neville, why don't you enjoy the hospitality of the Hufflepuff table this evening?" he asked.

"Why, Mr. Diggory, is that an invitation?" Neville grinned, then batted his eyes in an outrageous fashion.

"Longbottom, stop flirting with my fiancé!" Harry laughed, then elbowed a giggling Neville in the ribs. "Why, Mr. Diggory, I for one would be more than pleased to eat with you this evening," he said, offering his arm.

Cedric took the proffered arm and led Harry towards the middle of the Badger table. "Oi, Neville, you're on your own after this," he called back over his shoulder.

"Never you mind, Diggory, I've got this one," Hannah Abbot said, rising and going to meet Neville in the door. "Lord Longbottom, I assume that you're dining with me this evening?" she asked, offering her own arm to Neville.

"Miss Abbott, I would be most delighted to bask in your radiance this evening," Neville answered, taking Hannah's arm.

"Oh, Lord Longbottom, how you do talk!" Hannah said, snickering and blushing at the same time as she allowed herself to be led back to her seat. "And didn't you know that a man should never make a woman feel underdressed?" she asked, gently teasing him.

"Blame Harry," Neville said. "It was his idea, and you know how he gets," he finished, causing Harry to cry "Oi! Right here!".

Snickers went all around the Hufflepuff table as people scooted over to make room for the visiting Gryffindors. Of course, they all made a great show of completely ignoring the curious looks and outright glares that they were getting from all over the Hall.

At the high table Pomona Sprout noticed what was happening, and out of the corner of her eyes she saw several of the other Professors move to stand. Before anyone could interfere with what was going on below, Pomona spoke up firmly.

"How nice to see that at least some of our students listened to the Hat's message about school unity! Minerva, my compliments to your students for having the courage to sit with my house. Ten points to Gryffindor, for taking the first steps tonight!" Smiling, she looked at her friend, who didn't look like she wanted to agree, but still….

"Well, I suppose you're right, Pomona," McGonagall agreed grudgingly. "And, ten points to Hufflepuff, for being so accepting of my lions in their midst," she said, surrendering gracefully. As the Deputy Headmistress settled back, the other Professors sat back as well.

"If we're quite finished with the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff mutual admiration society, then perhaps we can enjoy our meal in peace?" Severus Snape's cold admonition drifted down to the two women from the opposite end of the high table.

"Now, Severus," Filius Flitwick piped up. "If your snakes weren't so prickly, then perhaps someone else might ask to join them. I know that a few of my Ravens might be interested, but they know Slytherins well enough to know not to make the first move where Salazar's house is concerned."

"As well they should," Snape shot back. "The Houses are separate for good reason, and I for one see no need to attempt to increase inter-house fraternization beyond what must inevitably occur."

"My, how…isolative of you, Severus," Septima Vector said coolly. Holding a Mastery in her own field, she was one of the few faculty members that dared to meet Snape on his own ground. "One would think that you yearned for a world of only those like you…and what a bleak, monochromatic world that would be," she finished, glancing at Snape's all black robes to make her point.

"Indeed, such a world would be to my liking," Snape said, refusing to be baited. "Free of the idiotic, trendy, faddish twaddle that so many of these children," he made the word sound like the foulest of insults, "bring among us each year."

"Yes, such a pity that these children," Vector answered, mimicking Snape's inflection on the word, " are not only the next generation of our world, but also our reason for being here as teachers. How dreadfully inconsiderate of them," she finished, then took a sip of her wine to hide her smile.

Flitwick and Sprout exchanged glances, and McGonagall merely sipped her tea as the other teachers pointedly ignored the exchange between the two sniping Professors. They were spared any more by the Headmaster's arrival, and the meal commenced as soon as he was seated.

"Ah, bubble and squeak! How delightful," Albus remarked, before serving himself a largish portion.

"And how was your meeting with the Minister today, Albus?" McGonagall asked quietly.

"It went quite well, actually," Albus said, smiling as he reached for the mashed potatoes. "Cornelius has agreed to release some galleons from the Emergency Fund, as well as accept the help that various countries have offered to us. I expect that within a few days the refugees will be resettled out of the castle, and then we can go back to whatever it is that approaches 'normal' for the beginning of the school year."

"Surely they'll have someplace to go, Albus. You can't just turn them out into the cold!" Sprout insisted.

"Of course not, Pomona," no matter how much I might want to, Albus thought. "While the details are still being worked out, I suspect that they'll be in wizarding tents for the time being, and until their homes can be rebuilt. Also, Cornelius mentioned that some of the offered aid has included field kitchens and the supplies to serve them, so that's taken care of as well. So, their conditions may be a bit primitive for a bit, but after all, these are only temporary measures. I've already sent off owls inquiring about rebuilding and repairing the warehouses around the station, and I'm certain that I'm not the only one who's begun arranging for construction crews.

* * *

"Well, that's done, then," Remus Lupin leaned back and put down the wax seal he'd been using to close up a batch of letters. "I'll take these by the post office first thing in the morning, and get them sent off."

"How long do you think it'll take us to get a crew lined up and work started on the new house?" Sirius Black asked from across the table in the kitchen at Number 12, Grimmauld Place.

"Who knows? A week? Two?" Lupin shrugged. "Another thing I have to do tomorrow is to go by the Ministry and see about getting a set of construction permits, so we won't have to do that later."

"Will you need my help with that?" Sirius asked, looking over the evening paper at his friend.

"Not unless you especially want to come," Remus answered.

"Well, there is that one very attractive witch in the title office," Sirius commented slyly.

Remus laughed at his friend. "Well, then, of course I'll need for you to come with me!" he smiled.

"Oh, in that case, I'll be ready about nine-ish, then. Will that do?" Sirius asked, going back to his paper.

"As long as it's nine by the clock and not nine-ish Sirius Black time…meaning after two for the rest of us." Remus said, then easily ducked the hex that came sailing towards him.

"I wonder how Harry's doing," Sirius' voice came from behind the paper, not acknowledging the hex he had just thrown.

"I'm sure he and Cedric are doing just fine, and no, you're not going to mirror-call them now, because it's dinner time at Hogwarts…or had you forgotten?"

"No, I hadn't forgotten, I was just wondering."

"Well, come here, then, and you can add to the letter I'm about to write them." Remus said, his tone sounding exasperated but his smile saying otherwise.

"Well, okay, then. As long as you were going to write anyway."

Remus only rolled his eyes and said nothing.

* * *

As the meal wound down, Harry and Cedric had a significant conversation using only their eyes, and a single meaningful glance at the high table.

"Oh, Merlin, are they to that stage already?" Hannah asked Neville, who only caught the look at the high table.

"What stage?" Neville wanted to know.

"The 'we can talk for hours just with looks' stage, of course," Hannah huffed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well, yeah," Neville snarked, only be rewarded with a smack. "Ow! Violent woman! What was that for?" he whinged, rubbing his now-sore arm.

"For being a right git," Hannah said primly, ignoring the snickers around her.

"So, just who had the sad future of spousal abuse before them, and who was going to get rich off the butter concession?" Harry asked sweetly.

"Never you mind, Potter," Neville growled, giving his friend a stern look.

"Oooh, so fierce, my hero," Hannah laughed, sliding closer to Neville and wrapping an arm around his. "See, he'll protect me from all the evil Gryffindors, won't you, Neville."

"Hannah, most radiant of all of the beauties in the world, I'm an evil Gryffindor," Neville said, leaning closer.

"Hush, you…I meant all the OTHER evil Gryffindors at the table."

"Erm, Hannah, since Harry and I have allied our families, then technically I have to defend him from you," Neville said, blushing. "Until, that is, you become a Longbottom," he clarified immediately.

"Oh, really? So, do you think that your Gran would actually adopt me?" Hannah asked sweetly. "Then we could be brother and sister? Is that what you want?"

"NO!" Neville burst out, blushing a bright red. Then, he dropped his head to the table with a thunk. "Harry, help me out…I call upon you to honor our alliance; give me aid and assistance!" It came out a bit muffled by the tabletop, but clear enough for Harry and Cedric (and Hannah, and several others) to hear.

None of them noticed the little surge of magic that accompanied his words, or Harry's response.

* * *

In the Department of Mysteries, the pages of a large, dusty book stirred, and a bit of writing appeared on a page that had just recently been opened.

"Well, calling on each other already," the Unspeakable muttered. "Damn, I wasn't even close. Oh, well, time for a new pool." He was smiling as he sent the appropriate memos on their way.

* * *

Harry drew himself up in his seat and straightened his robes minutely. Staring Hannah directly in the eye, he announced in a serious voice, "Miss Abbott, speaking as Lord Potter, I would greatly appreciate it if you would refrain from such dastardly acts of insinuation and innuendo against my ally, Lord Longbottom. He is, after all, possessing of a delicate constitution, and you might do him permanent harm." His somber expression immediately dissolved into giggles when he finished speaking.

"Oi! What was that?" Neville's head shot up, and he glared at Harry. "Potter, you…you…" he sputtered.

"Oh, Neville, leave off. I'm sorry," Hannah said, smiling sweetly.

"Well…fine, then," Neville allowed himself to be soothed, then blushed all over again when Hannah leaned in and whispered in his ear. "A brother and sister relationship is NOT what we're all about, Longbottom…we're not that pureblooded!" Then, she leaned her head on his shoulder, a smug look on her face.

"Well, if you're all quite finished embarrassing Neville, I thought that this evening might be a good time to have our Heads of House in for a visit," Cedric said quietly. "We need to do it very soon…."

"…and 'twere well it were done quickly, eh?" Harry finished. Then, looking around at the confused looks. "Oh, come on…Shakespeare? England's most famous author in, like, EVER?"

"MacBeth, Act 1, Scene VII," Justin Finch-Fletchley said smugly. "Harry, most purebloods get that kind of education from private teachers before they come here—Shakespeare was a wizard, after all—but we're supposed to study him fairly extensively in History of Magic."

"What? You mean BINNS is the one supposed to be teaching us about Shakespeare?" Harry was dumbstruck. Then, shaking his head, he said ruefully. "One more thing that needs to be fixed around this dump. I swear to Merlin," he muttered. "If it isn't one thing, it's twenty." Around him, the cutlery and serving dishes began to vibrate on the table.

"Shh, Harry, calm down, you're scaring my housemates," Cedric said gently. "You can't be responsible for everything that happens, and you certainly can't fix everything all at once," he soothed his irritated boyfriend.

Harry sighed, and the table settled down. "You're right, of course, Ced. It just seems like so much has been allowed to go to rubbish, and no one seems to be concerned about it in the least," he said plaintively.

Justin snorted. "So you say, Potter. It may be true over in Gryffindor, but here in Hufflepuff we put quite a bit of effort into giving our students a more rounded education."

Susan Bones spoke up from Justin's other side. "He's right, Potter. If you're going to be dating one of us," she cut her eyes to Cedric, then right back, "then you'll just have to get used to our ways of doing things. Starting with the fact that most of the important things you learn here, you won't learn in your classes."

Harry's eyes widened, then narrowed in calculation as he leaned forward. "I see that there's a lot that I haven't been told," he mock-glared at his boyfriend.

"It's not like the subject ever came up," Cedric shot back, completely unconcerned.

"Too many other things 'coming up', I suppose," Justin said with a wink, which made Harry and Cedric blush and Susan smack him gently.

"Stop being crude," Susan said. Then, to Harry, "Don't blame Cedric…this time, Potter," she said sweetly. "I suspect he didn't bother telling you because he knew it'd just be easier to show you once you got back. Isn't that right, Cedric?"

"Actually, yes. Thanks, Susan." Cedric nodded her way. "Harry, Susan's dead right. I knew that we had enough to worry about over the summer without piling more on, and really, it'll be easier to just show you the 'puff way of doing things than try to explain it."

"So…secrets and more secrets, everywhere I turn," Harry said, more curious than irritated. "I suppose that it wouldn't do me any good to ask about any more deep secrets you're keeping from me?" he asked Cedric.

"Nope, not a bit." Then, Cedric leaned in and whispered in his ear. "There are a few that I'm saving for after the handfasting, you know," he said, making sure that his breath blew into Harry's ear as he spoke.

Harry shivered, then turned to him. "Be glad that we're in public, Diggory," he said huskily.

"Or what, Potter?" Cedric said back, just as huskily.

"Or else…" Harry trailed off, only to be interrupted from several sources.

"All right, you two, that's enough of that!" That from Neville.

"Ooh, hot boys about to snog!" That from Hannah.

"Oi, get a room, you two!" That from Justin.

"Quick, somebody fetch Creevy and his camera!" That from Susan.

"A sickle says they use tongue!" That came from a bit further down the table.

"No bet!" From several throats at once.

Reluctantly, Harry and Cedric separated, then turned to face Neville and Hannah across the table. If each of them needed a moment to slow their breathing, no one commented. Still, proving just what a staunch friend he really was, Neville Longbottom was there to provide cover for the pair.

"At any rate, I think that you're idea to invite Sprout and McGonagall to visit us this evening is a capital idea," he said. "Mind if I ask Hannah to join us?"

Harry shook his head while Cedric answered for the both of them. "I don't see why not. It's not like we're going to be sharing any great secrets, other than what we did on our vacation this summer," he said easily.

"Who knows, Hannah…maybe you and Neville can get some ideas as to where you'd like to visit next summer," Harry said, smiling.

"Aren't you assuming that I wouldn't want to go alone?" Hannah grinned, then gave Neville's arm a squeeze before he could protest. "Still, traveling alone can be so boring; I think I'd much rather have Neville along to share the experience."

"More like, to carry the shopping bags," Neville groused good-naturedly, which made everyone in hearing range laugh, including Hannah.

* * *

Professors Sprout and McGonagall were about to leave the Great Hall together when they noticed the group of four students approaching them.

"Mr. Diggory, Miss Abbott, Mr. Potter, Mr. Longbottom," the Deputy Headmistress said coolly. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Actually, yes, Professor," Cedric spoke up, taking on the role of spokesman for the group. "We'd like to invite you and Professor Sprout to visit with us briefly this evening, if it's convenient for both of you."

"Well, I don't know…" McGonagall began, only to find herself cut off by Pomona Sprout.

"We'd be delighted, Mr. Diggory," the Hufflepuff Head said firmly. "And I'm sure that Professor McGonagall will be coming, as well," she said, giving her friend a stern look. "I don't know of anything that requires immediate attention from either of us, and I for one have been looking forward to hearing about your escapades over the summer!"

"I suppose that I can spare the time," McGonagall relented, although the look she gave Sprout was less than happy.

"Excellent! Would you like to go now, or would you like to freshen up after the meal?" Cedric asked politely.

"I'm fine as I am…Minerva, how about you?" Sprout said easily.

"I'm ready when you are, Pomona. Lead on, Mr. Diggory," the Scotswoman said, gesturing with her hand for the students to precede them.

As always, a few steps were all it took to carry the group to the entrance to the Lords Hall. Cedric, as the de facto leader and guide, opened the door and waved everyone through.

"Whose room, Ced?" Harry asked as he passed through.

"Why don't we give them the room to room tour, then finish up in yours, Harry…would that be alright with you, Neville?" he asked.

"Sure," Neville said, then opened his door before waving Hannah in with a flourish.

Hannah and the two professors 'ooh'd' and 'aah'd' appropriately at the rooms, but it was only a short while later that they all found themselves seated in Harry's sitting room.

"Well, I must say, Mr. Potter, that these accommodations are quite nice," McGonagall began. "They're certainly on a par with the senior faculty quarters. Or, should I say 'Lord' Potter and 'Lord' Longbottom?" she asked, her voice a bit cold.

"We were all a bit surprised ourselves when we saw them," Harry said, while Neville and Cedric nodded. "And, during the normal course of the school term, it's not really necessary or appropriate to call me or Neville 'Lord'…'Mr.' will be just fine, just like you've always done, Professor." He smiled at McGonagall, who nodded her understanding.

"Until we can arrange some sort of 'doorbell' system, you'll have to call for a house elf to let us know you're outside wanting to see us," Neville said. "Oh, Harry, do you have extra copies of the _**Rules & Regulations**_ for the Professors?"

Harry was off the couch and moving even before Neville stopped talking. "Right here," he said. "Ced, could you get the other things we brought while we go over this with the Professors?"

"Sure," Cedric replied, and without thinking pulled back the tapestry and opened the connecting door between the two rooms.

Both Professors immediately noticed where he had gone.

"Connecting doors, Mr. Potter? I'm not certain that such an arrangement is proper, considering your…relationship to Mr. Diggory." McGonagall's lips were pressed into a thin line of disapproval.

"I'm sorry to hear you say that, Professor," Harry said calmly. "Unfortunately, I believe that the book you're now holding indicates that it's perfectly within our rights to have such a door, and I see no reason to change the arrangement of our rooms at this time."

"Mr. Potter, where did you get this book? I thought that the last copies had been lost some years ago," Professor Sprout said, leafing through the slim volume.

"They may well have, Professor," Cedric said, coming back into the room. "Fortunately, Lucius Malfoy had a copy, and sent it to Harry over the summer."

"Lucius Malfoy?" McGonagall hissed, drawing back like she expected the book in her lap to suddenly grow teeth and bite her.

Harry nodded. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy. My Godfather and his wife are cousins, as you will recall, and Sirius and Narcissa have been communicating over the summer."

"Mr. Potter, do you think that wise?" McGonagall asked carefully.

"What I think is largely irrelevant, Professor. The last thing I would do is come between two Blacks in a matter of Family. However, I am happy to say that Sirius and Narcissa have gotten along famously, and that's probably the reason that Mr. Malfoy was so generous in providing this book to me. As you can see, we've made a few copies, and we've already sent copies off to be printed and bound. We'll be putting some of these in the Hogwarts library, of course, and you're more than welcome to new copies when those become available." He paused, then smiled. "I understand that it would be a right pain to re-create them out of a thousand years of records."

"I…see," McGonagall said softly.

"No, I don't think that you do, Professor," Neville said respectfully. "My Gran searched high and low this summer for a copy of this book, without success. I find that odd, don't you? That not even Hogwarts library—or the Headmaster or his Deputy—would have a copy of such an essential work? We realize that not every class will have a family Head, but still…it can't be that uncommon, can it?"

"I'm not sure…" McGonagall hesitated just enough for Professor Sprout to jump in.

"That is rather odd, I'd say. I haven't had any family Heads in Hufflepuff since You-Know-Who was vanquished by our Mr. Potter here, but it can't have been that long since one attended Hogwarts. Wasn't young Goodenby the Head of his House in his sixth and seventh years, Minerva?"

"Yes, as I recall, he was. Ravenclaw, if I'm remembering correctly, graduated the year before Mr. Diggory started. Odd," McGonagall paused. "I don't remember him using the Lords Hall, and I'm sure I'd remember something as out of the ordinary as that. I also don't remember him having a copy of this book, or even anyone asking about it."

The group sat in silence for a moment, each thinking their own thoughts. Finally, Harry broke the silence.

"Well, whatever, we've gotten you copies, and we're having a batch run up. Now, Cedric, you've got the prezzies?" he asked, getting excited.

"Right here. You realize that we forgot to give Professor Flitwick his earlier," Cedric said, reaching into a shiny bag.

Harry just shrugged, taking a small wooden box from his boyfriend and handing it to his Head of House. "We'll get his to him tomorrow, I guess. In the meantime, please accept these from both of us," he said, smiling at Professor McGonagall.

"You'll want to be a bit careful the first time you touch them," Cedric said to Professor Sprout as he handed her own box over. "There's a binding charm on the set that will set them to your magical signature. You'll be able to summon them easily, and the anti-theft charms will keep people from 'borrowing' your pen and not returning it."

"I…my, this is quite…er…" McGonagall said, looking at her box and holding it out so that Sprout could see. Of course, Sprout showed her own set back.

"They're a matched pen and pencil set," Harry said, smiling. "Think of them as a quill that never needs sharpening or filling, and a pencil that you never have to sharpen. The pens write in three different color inks, too," he trailed off, then shook his head. "There's instructions in the box," he finished lamely.

"Why, thank you, Mr. Potter, Mr. Diggory," Professor Sprout said warmly. "I've heard about these, but I don't think I've ever seen them. Where ever did you find them?"

"These, we found in Paris," Cedric said. "Harry insisted on getting each of us a set, and they're so useful that we decided to give all of our favorite Professors a set."

"Well, thank you very much," McGonagall said, touching hers lightly and giving a small jump as the charm activated. "My word!" she said, drawing her wand and making a few quick passes over the box. "How ingenious! I suppose that the charms are explained in this little pamphlet?" she asked.

Pomona Sprout chuckled, then also gave a bit of a start as she touched her pen for the first time. "Well, we can't say that we weren't warned, now can we?" she laughed. "I shall be using these frequently. I wonder just how many of our other students will have something like this?"

"Probably not many now, but soon, we hope," Cedric said. "They're much more convenient and less messy than quills, and the ever-filled charms mean that you'll never spill another ink bottle."

"Well, I certainly won't miss that," McGonagall said firmly. "Now, I understand that you went several other places on your vacation, didn't you?"

"Well, let's see…Greece, Egypt, then Japan, then back to Paris before coming back to Sirius' townhouse," Harry said, counting off on his fingers. "And that reminds, me…Cedric?" he said, turning back to the Hufflepuff beside him.

Cedric smiled, and reached back into his bag. "Professor," he said, directly to his Head of House, "you'll have to beg Neville for cuttings off some of the more interesting live plants and seedlings we sent back from Japan, but we did bring you back these," he said, pulling out another box. This one was the deep, rich red of polished cherry wood, and had a chrysanthemum carved into the lid.

"Oh, my," Sprout said, momentarily stunned. "Boys, you shouldn't have," she said.

"You don't even know what it is," Harry teased, helping Cedric to pass the box over. "It's a collection of some of the more interesting seeds of Asia. We asked some of the staff at the Experimental Station for Landscape Plants about what you might like."

"Oh, my," Sprout repeated. "This is…this is absolutely wonderful!" Opening the lid, she let her eyes sweep across the seeds, then reverently closed the box once more. "You said that you sent back samples to Neville, I believe?"

"They did indeed, and of course I'll be willing to share with you, Professor," Neville grinned. "Of course, we'll probably have to re-open one or two of the unused greenhouses…and we'll need to get a house elf or two to help us out with that."

"If you can't shake loosed the funding to do that, Neville, let me know," Harry said quietly. "I'll see about arranging for it to be taken care of."

"You'll have to clear anything like that with the Headmaster first, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said repressively. "The Board of Governors might have something to say about the additional expenditure as well."

"Minerva, do you realize what this is?" Pomona Sprout jumped in before anyone else could speak. "These are seeds from the Chiba City Experimental Station! These are almost impossible to get unless you visit the magical Station in person, and even then you have to have influence of some kind. So, I don't think I'm going to ask too many questions, and just graciously accept this gift, on behalf of myself and the school's Herbology program."

"You're more than welcome, Professor," Cedric said. "I'm not sure about how hard they are to get…all I had to do was to get little Lord Prat here…"

"Oi! Right here!"

"…to mention his name, and that he'd really, really like to take some seeds home to his Herbology Professor…and then he used the puppy dog eyes." Cedric grinned, dodging the inevitable swat. "Nothing to it, really."

"Git," Harry said darkly, then turned back to Sprout. "Actually, I was recognized during our visit, so it wasn't like I went out of my way," he explained. "We wound up talking with several of their staff, and I might have mentioned that anything that could be useful when fighting Dark Lords would be greatly appreciated."

"I see," Pomona Sprout prided herself on being sensible, and there was no way that she was going to give up her present. "Well, if I can get Neville to help me with the extra work…and, of course, the extra space we'll need," she smiled at her favorite student, who nodded back. "Then I don't doubt that several of the plants here will be useful in the days to come. I do know of at least two different healing potions that require Japanese plants; they are almost never brewed here simply because we can't get the proper materials."

"Anything like that will be a great help, I'm sure," Harry smiled. "And remember, if you need extra funding, please don't hesitate to let me know. My parents left me very well off, and I can't think of a better investment than spending it here at Hogwarts."

"I appreciate your willingness and generosity, Mr. Potter, but I'm not sure how appropriate such actions might be. I'm also a bit concerned about how your classmates might view such actions," McGonagall said hesitantly.

"Like Lucius Malfoy buying a set of professional-quality brooms for the Slytherin Quidditch team? Professor, would it make you feel better if I donated two dozen Firebolts to the school? I assure you, if that's what it takes to improve all of our chances of surviving the next few years, then I will. Of course, I can also take that very same gold and build Professor Sprout another greenhouse or two, to grow herbs that can be used to save lives. In fact, I can do both, if I want to, and quite frankly I'll never miss it. Yes, Professor," he said, holding up a hand to forestall McGonagall's interruption. "The Potter vaults are that full, and more flows into them each and every day. And, if it takes every single knut to defeat Voldemort once and for all, then so be it! I'll pay that price, and gladly," he said, then sat back, glaring at the Deputy Headmistress.

Minerva McGonagall sat there, her eyes locked on to her student. When he didn't blink or look away, she found herself looking—really looking—at the young man before her for the first time since September 1st. Gone was the scrawny, underfed, self-effacing boy that had left Hogwarts the previous spring. In his place was a tone, fit, confident young man on the very cusp of adulthood. With a start, she realized just how much the summer had changed the Boy-Who-Lived…so much so that she wasn't sure she knew the person sitting across from her.

"I…see," she said at last. "Well, as long as the Headmaster and Governors agree, then there shouldn't be any insurmountable problems. I would caution you, however, Mr. Potter, that blatant attempts to use your wealth to influence the school will most likely be poorly received."

Harry shrugged casually. "In some quarters, you're correct. However, most of those people are ones that I can't care less about, and as long as they stay out of my way and let me get on with killing Voldie, then we won't have any problems. Make no mistake, though…getting rid of old Moldie Shorts and his Death Munchers has to take precedence over anything else, until it's done."

"Mr. Potter, you're still just a young man, and the Headmaster has always insisted that you have as normal a childhood as possible. Also, the Ministry…."

"The Ministry still won't admit that he's back!" Harry spat. "Professor, I was THERE! You heard Barty Junior before he was kissed! You know what Dumbledore believes! All right, Professor Dumbledore," he said, seeing that he was about to be corrected by the Professor. "Now, has _Professor_ Dumbledore," he went on, leaning on the title for emphasis, "bothered to tell you about the prophecy? Or you, Professor Sprout?"

"Harry…Mr. Potter…" McGonagall started, but Harry was on a roll and in no mood to be stopped.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches..." he quoted. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."

"Trelawney made that prophecy to Albus Dumbledore, and the first part was overheard by an agent of Voldie's. Now, Professor, can you tell me I'm just a normal child, when Voldie himself gave me this mark?" Harry lifted his bangs, showing off his scar. It was such a rare gesture for him that McGonagall was shocked despite herself. "Did the Headmaster also tell you about those _wonderful_ muggles he abandoned me with? You're the one who sent my letter to 'the Cupboard Under the Stairs'—did it ever occur to you that children normally don't live in boot cupboards? Or that I came back every fall much thinner than I left? Please, Professor, tell me why I had to go to Paris for appropriate medical treatment, when your school nurse has seen me more than any other student at this school for the last four years? Professor, I've fought trolls, and possessed DADA instructors, and basilisks, and dragons, and merepeople, and the resurrected Dark Lord himself, all while under the 'protection' of Hogwarts and her oh-so-revered Headmaster. The same Headmaster who, by the way, interviewed a potential Seer in a pub, of all places! What was he thinking? And now, you tell me that he's wanted me to have 'as normal a childhood as possible'? Just when, pray tell, was this 'normal childhood' supposed to start?"

Harry pulled away from Cedric, who was trying to calm him down, and took a deep breath. "No, I'm not finished yet. In for a knut, in for a galleon. Professor Sprout, Professor McGonagall, I'm sorry if I've offended you, but surely you can see how I'm not exactly 'normal'. Whether or not you believe in prophecy, Albus Dumbledore and Tom Riddle obviously do; their actions so far have guaranteed that the damned prophecy is now self-fulfilling. So, Voldemort is going to keep coming after me until either he or I snuffs it for the last time, and I bloody well intend to be the last one standing when the dust finally clears. So, if my parent's money can help me with that, fine. Pretty much anything that can help me with that, fine. But, at the same time, anything that gets in the way of that, I can't take the time to bother with it. Please understand that I have to look at things that way, if I'm going to have any chance of survival against a wizard decades older and more experienced than I am."

"Harry won't be facing Voldemort alone," Neville said, and if there was a slight hesitation in his voice as he said the Dark Lord's name, no one noticed. "The House of Longbottom stands beside the House of Potter, and anyone who doubts that is in for a rude surprise."

"He's got other allies as well," Cedric said firmly. "My own house isn't a Noble or Most Ancient House, but the House of Black is…and we're not alone."

"I don't doubt that," Sprout said, beaming at the young men in the room. "Mr. Potter, I'm very concerned about some of the things that I've just heard, but I'm not sure that this evening is the time to explain all of them. I'll expect to see you three in my office sometime in the next day or so, understand?" She rose, taking her box of seeds and pen set with her. "Minerva, I'll leave you and the boys alone, so that you can listen as Deputy Headmistress, in confidence. I'll see myself out, thank you," she said, and bustled out of the room.

When the door shut, Harry looked at McGonagall neutrally. "Tea, Deputy Headmistress?" he asked, then snapped his fingers without waiting for an answer.

"Tea for four, please," Harry said to the elf who appeared, then popped out. Cedric was busy watching McGonagall, and didn't even see which elf had come in response to Harry's summons.

"Mr. Potter, I don't know where to start," the Transfiguration Professor began. "I did tell Albus that your family were the worst sort of muggles, but…."

"But he's Albus Dumbledore, and your employer, as well. Professor, all of that is old news, and since this summer I really don't see any reason to even think about the Dursleys, ever again." Harry was coolly pleasant, which worried Cedric more than if he had been screaming. He was also concerned about some of the things that Harry had let slip during his diatribe, but that was not a major worry at this point—everything Harry said was true, and easily provable, and McGonagall needed to be aware of every bit of it—eventually. In a way, it was good that Harry had gone ahead and said all that he had, so they could get this particular conversation over with now rather than later.

The house elf appeared once more, set down the tea tray and disappeared before Harry could think it. "Tea, Professor?" he repeated, pouring at her direction. He served Neville, then Cedric before taking a cup himself, then leaned back against Cedric's shoulder.

"Now, shall we discuss something more pleasant than my blood relations?" he asked quietly. "I assume you have questions?" he said, looking at McGonagall over his teacup.

McGonagall took a deep breath, and then asked.

* * *

It was some two hours later before Minerva McGonagall made it back to her quarters, carefully carrying the jade figurine that the boys had given her, in addition to the magical pen set.

To say that the Scottish witch was a bit shocked would have been a terrific understatement. Potter's story, backed up by Diggory, was quite a bit different from what Albus Dumbledore had told her over the years. For starters, he had reassured her countless times that Harry was healthy, happy and well cared for, when apparently exactly the opposite was the case. Over the years, she had questioned Albus' judgment, but now she found herself reassessing each one of those times, and she wasn't terribly happy with the conclusions that she was finding unavoidable.

The fact was, young Harry Potter had the right of it. He never should have been left with those horrible Muggles in the first place—blood protections be damned. Minerva had wondered about the Potter's will at the time, and Harry hadn't mentioned it earlier, but she had known Lily and James well enough to seriously doubt they would have wanted Lily's sister to raise their only child.

Minerva smiled faintly at a memory of a beaming James Potter carefully handing her his week-old son. Harry had been awake and looking around at everything with those huge green eyes—Lily's eyes—and had sputtered juicily when Minerva had made baby-talk at him.

To think of that precious child, treated like a house elf and worse for all those years, while Albus sat back and did nothing! McGonagall's blood was close to boiling; first her initial warnings were ignored, then her later concerns were dismissed out of hand. Even if Albus hadn't known about the conditions little Harry was forced to endure, he bloody well should have! If nothing else, Albus Dumbledore was guilty of some of the worst acts of negligence towards a child's welfare that she had ever known. And if he had known, and then allowed it to continue…!

Minerva shook her head. If the Board of Governors were to be told the truth, Albus would be suspended at best, immediately sacked at worse. It made no difference to her that it was the Boy Savior of the Wizarding World…no child, regardless of birth, should have had to endure what Albus had condemned Harry to.

Then where did that leave her? She had been Albus' faithful supporter and strong right arm all these years, virtually since he had ascended to the Headmaster's chair and she had taken over as Professor of Transfiguration. If he had been so wrong about the Dursleys (and he had, she admitted it to herself), then what else had he been wrong about?

Most importantly, just what could she do about it now?

Reaching into a drawer, Minerva pulled out a bottle, poured herself two fingers (neat), and tossed back the Scotch in one smooth motion. The amber liquid slid down her throat like liquid fire, and in moments she felt the warmth of aged Scots whiskey seeping into her veins.

Firstly, she was not going to tell Albus all of what she had heard. The boys hadn't come out and said it, but she definitely had the sense that they wanted to play things close to the chest in the days to come. Well, she could certainly see why that was, and she would honor their unspoken request.

She would also re-think her lesson plans, especially for the upper years. Potter was correct in that another war was about to wash over them, and she couldn't help but smile as she remembered his words about his assignments.

_ "Professor, I can appreciate that you want us to understand the ins and outs of transfiguration theory, but if I don't quite pour heart and soul into writing essays about the details of turning rabbits into rhododendrons, I hope you'll understand. Don't worry about giving me the grade I earn, but don't expect me to grieve over the occasional 'P' now and then, either. After Tom's been dealt with, I'll worry about all the essays you want to assign. Fair enough?"_

Indeed, the child had a point. She had to prepare her students for their OWLS and NEWTS, of course, but she could do that while being just a touch more…practical in her lessons, without anyone being any the wiser. Learning to transfigure shields and blocks of stone to hide behind might save lives in the days to come, and would be easy enough to justify to Albus when he (as he inevitably would) noticed the change.

Minerva would also be having a long talk with Pomona, probably in one of her back greenhouses, away from any convenient portraits, about a few things. Then, she was going to see if she could manage a quick look at Pomphrey's file on both Potter and Longbottom. And, while she was at it, she might as well spend some time speaking with Filius, about just what he had been told during his earlier visit to the Lords Hall. Lastly, she hadn't spent any quality time with Alastor Moody—the real thing, not that imposter who had wisely avoided her all last year—in far too many years. The two of them went back too far together to lie to one another, and she'd already found out from her sources that Moody had effectively moved in to Grimmauld Place during the latter part of the summer. Alastor was far too paranoid to have done that without a good reason, and Minerva suddenly found herself desperately wanting to know just what that reason (or reasons) might be.

It promised to be an interesting year.

Merlin help them all!

* * *

About the time that Minerva McGonagall was pouring her second shot of twelve year old Knockando, Harry and Cedric were snuggling together in Cedric's bed. Their choice of bedroom for the evening had been largely the result of Harry's following Cedric back into his room, and not any specific decision on either of their parts.

McGonagall had questioned the connecting door once again, and Harry had pointed out that the _**Rules**_ allowed them to make such alterations to their rooms and to the Hall as were necessary or desired, so long as no one objected. While the book didn't address betrothed couples _per se_, Harry and Cedric both made it quite clear that neither of them objected in any way. Further discussion was cut off rather dramatically when Harry informed the Deputy Headmistress that he was more than willing to leave Hogwarts that evening, and would be perfectly happy never to come back for any reason.

The cool tone and absolute calm Harry had shown—along with his stated intent to tell the Headmaster exactly the same thing, if needed—had convinced McGonagall to let the matter drop. She had silently rationalized that they were both legally of age, and probably wouldn't do anything that they hadn't already done over the summer, but it still left her a bit…chilled to know just how seriously Harry took his relationship with young Diggory…and also just how little value he put on continuing at Hogwarts.

A bit later, the subject had come up again.

_ Professor, I assure you, if my time here at Hogwarts is being wasted or my preparations to deal with Tommy Boy are being hindered, then I will leave this school!_

_ Mr. Potter, your parents…._

_ Professor, my parents both graduated from this 'fine institution'…and how long did they last against Tommy? Two minutes? Five? Based on recent history, a Hogwarts education is woefully inadequate for what I have to face!_

She had conceded that he was correct, but it hadn't set well with her, and for that Harry was feeling a bit guilty.

"Ced, love?" he asked, snuggling a bit closer.

"Umm?" Cedric hummed back, enjoying the snuggle.

"Did I do the right thing, talking to McGonagall like I did?" Harry's voice was small, anxious.

Cedric squeezed his arm a bit tighter, pulling Harry's body even closer. "I don't really know that doing it any other way would have been any better," he began carefully. "I think you were firm when you needed to be, but as polite as you could be, at the same time. So, yes, I think it went well…better, in fact, than I had thought it would."

"Did we tell her too much…Sprout, too?"

"Maybe…who knows?" Cedric had been thinking about that very thing. "I have no idea, actually. One thing in your favor, though; if you're going to make a mistake it's going to be in being too open and honest with people you need to rely on. Compare that to what she's been getting all these years from Dumbledore. I think you'll come out much better doing it your way, once people like McGonagall get used to being 'in the loop'.

"She didn't seem especially happy with some of his little secrets that we let slip, did she?" Harry snickered. "Telling her the prophecy was the right thing to do, I'm sure."

"I'm not convinced that we don't just need to publish the bloody thing in the _Prophet_ and be done with it," Cedric groused.

Harry snickered, then leaned over. "You may be right, but I'm not going to think about it right now. Kiss me, prat."

"Yes, Lord Prat."

And that was the end of the serious conversation for the night.

* * *

_Earlier that day_

Madam Rosmerta stood in front of the ruins of The Three Broomsticks, her hands on her hips and a disgusted look on her face.

"All right, let's do this," she said to the two men standing beside her.

"Rosie, are you sure about this?" one of the men asked.

"Eddie, I've told you already, I'm going to do this. I'm not going to just roll over and die because my pub burned down. We're going to do what we can today, and then as soon as Malcolm here," she twitched her head to the other man, "can get his act together, we'll start the rebuilding proper-like."

Edward Gulliesworth sighed, knowing that once his cousin's mind was made up nothing short of a rampaging dragon would make her reconsider. "Well, then, let's hope this old thing hasn't rotted away to nothing," he muttered, leaning heavily on the canvas-wrapped bundle at his side. "I suppose that you'll be wanting to clean this mess away first?" he asked, raising his wand.

Rosmerta nodded absently, reaching down to pick up the charred sign from her pub. "You'll be right as rain in no time," she whispered to the sign, then sat it carefully to one side. Then, she turned and pulled her wand, stepping briskly to where the charred remains of The Three Broomsticks still smoldered.

"You lot coming, or am I to do this all myself?" she asked acidly, then turned back to the rubble that had once been her business. Joined by the two men, the three made short work of the debris, banishing and leveling the ground with broad strokes of their wands.

Once they were satisfied, Goodman Gulliesworth levitated his canvas bag into the center of the site, then made sure that everyone was well back before twitching his wand in a particular motion. The bag quivered, then sat there for a moment as if it were considering just what to do next. Then, with a shudder, it began opening by itself, large sections flopping out in every direction while the center slowly began to rise.

"Well, the automatic set-up charms seem to be working," Eddie muttered to himself. "Hope the rest does just as well."

"How long has it been since you opened that thing up and aired it out?" Madam Rosmerta asked her cousin.

Gulliesworth grunted, then spat to the side before answering. "Been a while," he finally admitted. "Couple of years after Grindelwald got his," he said.

Rosmerta winced but didn't say anything. She had been lucky beyond belief that her cousin had the old field tent tucked away in his attic. It was a remnant of the Grindelwald war, a grim reminder of just what all of Europe had gone through while the Muggles were fighting their second 'World War'.

Within minutes, the field tent had finished setting itself up, support poles rising on their own while stays whipped out to bury their pegs in the hard soil. The tent proper almost looked like it was being inflated like some giant balloon, until it snapped into shape with a faint 'crack' of old canvas.

"I know it's not much to look at, but it's what you've got," Edward said.

"It looks sound from here. I'm going to make a circuit and see about the other sides," Malcolm said, setting off to his right.

Madam Rosmerta eyed the stained tan canvas critically. "No holes that I can see, at least," she said. "Can't say that it's the most cheery of color, but needs must, I suppose. Let's see the inside, then," she said, pulling back the flap and stepping inside.

"Right behind you," Eddie said, following her in to the central room.

Like all wizarding tents, it was much bigger on the inside than the outside. Stepping around Rosmerta, Eddie raised his wand and cast a spell towards the peak of the tent.

"_Luminiferens activato_". Immediately, a soft glow came from light strips placed at intervals around the room, increasing in intensity until a soft, pleasant illumination—not quite as bright as day, but enough to easily see or read by—filled the spacious room. To his left, a large serving area dominated most of the wall, with several doors behind it leading to outlying rooms. The center area was taken up by a two rows of tables set end to end, and the right-hand wall had a number of doors set within it, flanking a center raised platform large enough for a small ensemble.

"Musty," Rosmerta said, striding towards the serving bar.

"I'll open up the door on the far end, let some air circulate," Eddie said, doing just that.

"Well, at least it's fairly clean; not much dust and no spider webs," Rosmerta said, eyeing the bar critically. "And plenty of bar space, I like that, I do," she nodded, pleased.

"All of these tents were thoroughly cleaned before they were closed up, and the preservation charms were supposed to last a century or more," Eddie said. "There's a manual somewhere, probably behind the bar, telling you the standard procedure for getting the place packed up as per regulations. Plus, everything else about it, I would imagine."

Rosmerta nodded, lifting a flap on the bar and stepping behind it. She let the service flap fall with a 'bang!', then turned and put her hands on the bar, looking out.

"Now, that's how I like to see you, Rosie," Eddie grinned. "Behind a bar, where God and Merlin intended you to be."

"Oh, go on with you," Madam Rosmerta said, giving her cousin a wave, but she couldn't keep a ghost of a smile from tugging at her lips. She had a bar, of sorts, once more, by Circe! Still, it wouldn't do to let her cousin think she was too excited, now would it?

"I suppose I'll find the kitchens behind these doors?" she asked Eddie, who nodded.

"Kitchens, pantry, other storage, plus an office for you and probably a bunk room for the kitchen staff, unless I miss my guess." Eddie finished tying off the back flap, then waved his wand to set a breeze blowing through the building, carrying the lingering smell of burned buildings with it. "These tents were designed to seat over a hundred wizards at any one time, and could feed three complete seatings an hour without turning a hair on the cook's heads. So, I think you'll find the kitchen itself will be all that you might need."

"Don't see any taps, or places to keep the butterbeer," Madam Rosmerta said, looking up and down the back of the bar.

"Didn't have any," Gulliesworth said calmly, taking a seat on top of one of the tables. "This was a mess tent, not a pub, love. You'll have to put a tap or two in, and some cold boxes as well, but that shouldn't be much of a problem."

Absently, Rosmerta shook her head 'no, it won't be', then tried the taps. She was pleasantly surprised when both cold and hot water gushed out, even though the water was a bit brackish. "Need to flush the tanks, I suppose. Shouldn't be too hard, though."

"Manual'll have all that in it," Eddie said casually. "These things were designed to go for months with little or no support; to be dropped into the middle of Merlin-only-knows where and keep a good-sized unit feed and reasonably happy in the middle of the worst war we'd seen in centuries. They built them to be easy to keep up, by people with no time and less training."

"Mmm," Rosmerta said noncommittally, pulling out a leather bound book, obviously the infamous 'Manual'. "Well, I found the instruction book," she said, then grinned. "What're those doors on that far wall?" she asked, pointing.

"Small dining rooms, for officers and secret meetings and such," Eddie said. "Never got inside of one of them myself, but that's what they were for." He grinned. "You might want to kit some of them out with cots and such, make yourself a few extra sickles renting out the rooms."

"That's actually not a bad idea," Rosmerta said thoughtfully. "At least for the next few weeks, we'll have more heads than beds to lay them in, I'm thinking."

"Always a dangerous thing, our Rosmerta thinking," Malcolm said, entering the tent.

"And that'll be quite enough out of you, Malcolm McDougal!" Rosmerta snapped. "I don't suppose you'll be telling us what you saw outside, will you?"

"Everything looked as fine as could be," McDougal said, taking his own seat. "And now, you saucy wench, I'm as thinking that a toast to your new establishment is in order." Ignoring Rosmerta's growl, he reached in a pocket and pulled out a parcel about the size of a pack of cards, which he expanded into a steamer trunk with a tap of his wand. "It's a little something to get you started, Rosie," he said, smiling broadly. Turning the trunk towards the bar owner, he opened it with a flourish.

"McDougal! You shouldn't have!" Rosmerta gasped, seeing the bottles of liquor, beer and butterbeer displayed.

"Ach, it's nothing, love, just a drop to get you going. I'll be bringing up another load tomorrow with the first of the lumbar, but I'm thinking this will get you started until you can get a proper liquor order in."

"Well, don't just sit there, man, pour me a drink! Setting this thing up was thirsty work!" Eddie Gulliesworth laughed.

"Hand me a bottle, then, and some glasses. I'll be damned if I let either of you two pour the first drinks in my new place!" Rosmerta beckoned with one hand, and Malcolm was only too eager to comply. Within the space of a few heartbeats, each of the three had a shot of Old Ogden's in hand.

"Wait!" Rosmerta said. "There's something we've not done yet. Bring your drinks," she said, stepping to the front of the tent.

Outside, she handed her glass to Malcolm McDougal, then picked up the Three Broomsticks sign carefully. A wave of her wand turned a few discarded, burned posts into a frame, and another wave and nudge had the sign hanging from it just above head height.

"There," Madam Rosmerta said, satisfied. "Now, let's drink to the new Three Broomsticks, temporary though it may be. Gentlemen, I hereby declare the rebuilding of Hogsmeade to have commenced!"

Both men agreed with a hearty 'aye!', then all three tossed back their drinks.

"Well, I say we go in and christen the bar appropriately," Eddie said, grinning.

"You would," Rosmerta sighed, but she didn't even try to hide her smile as they went back into her new bar.

**A/N:** well, I did say the building would commence, and it has. FYI, the infamous 'cream pie fight scene' (hinted at since the latter part of 'One Wizarding Summer') has been written; it now awaits the rest of the story catching up to it. Don't know when that will be, this thing is pretty much writing itself, and I'm just hanging on for the ride. As always, your reviews keep the plot bunnies fed—this is especially important now, because there are two or three that are truly ravenous, and would like nothing better than to devour the time I'd otherwise spend on this fic.

**Next Chapter:** The morning _Prophet_ arrives just in time to ruin breakfast, and Remus is in trouble (and taken out of context)…Harry & Co. plan some damage control, and try to make lemonade….


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** The _Daily Prophet_ arrives, ruining breakfasts the length and breadth of Great Britain. Harry and his friends scramble to make lemonade out of the lemons the _Prophet_ hands them. Harry and Albus have a few words, and Umbridge makes her opinions known to the Headmaster. Fudge is given the pitch, and a chance to get with the program. Voldemort contemplates just how daunting a task world domination can be…unless, of course, you happen to be immortal.

**Disclaimer: **no change, no profit except for the warm fuzzies from loving reviews!

**Chapter 10**

_Denotes Flashback_

Remus Lupin had just complemented Winky on his excellent breakfast and taken the first sip of his morning tea when the _Daily Prophet_ arrived. The Lord of the House, one Sirius Black, had never been much of a morning person, and Remus fully expected it to be another half-hour, at the earliest, before the smell of Winky's cooking lured Sirius down from his room.

Opening the paper, he was reaching for his tea when he saw the headline.

"Oh, no!" he moaned.

His tea was quite cold by the time he remembered it.

* * *

Tom Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort, had just taken his seat at the breakfast table when the _Daily Prophet_ arrived.

Opening the paper, his eyes immediately fell on the headline.

"By Hecate!" he swore, and then burst out laughing.

* * *

Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic for the United Kingdom of England, Scotland and Wales had a lovely breakfast undisturbed by the morning _Prophet_. He had learned years ago to avoid the rag on a morning after he had given a press conference. No, first he broke his fast, then took his time dressing before taking the Floo into the Ministry. As per his usual procedure, he wasn't given the morning paper until he was on his second cuppa of the morning.

Consequently, the Howlers were already beginning to arrive before Fudge saw the headlines.

For Percy Weasley, the poor assistant to whom the Howlers were diverted, reading the headline (and accompanying article) first thing in the morning wasn't much help in dealing with the dozens of screaming red letters that swooped down on him that morning.

* * *

Harry Potter was sitting in the Great Hall with his boyfriend Cedric when the morning Prophet arrived. Once again, he was surrounded by Hufflepuffs; he was finding out that 'puffs were in general a much cheerier bunch of a morning than the bulk of the Gryffindors.

Harry was, of course, enough of a Gryffindor to like a good lie-in, and was still adjusting to sharing a bed with a self-confessed morning person.

He had managed to score a nice, strong cup of tea this morning, and had put four or five sugars in (he was still a bit blurry, and his count could have been off) when the post owl landed in front of him.

Feeding the bird a scrap of bacon while he put his knuts into the pouch on the bird's leg, he took the paper and laid it down while he fixed another cup of tea. Then, fork in hand, he managed to spread the paper out to one side of his plate and start reading and eating at the same time. At least, that was the plan.

The sight of the headline made Harry drop his fork back on to his plate, push the plate to one side, and began bashing his forehead on the tabletop repeatedly.

When Cedric Diggory saw what his boyfriend was doing, he stretched his neck enough to get a good look at the paper's headline.

Cedric immediately buried his head in his hands, and began taking slow, calming breaths.

* * *

At the high table, several of the Professors noticed the strange reactions the morning paper was causing around the room. So, it was with some trepidation that Albus Somebody Somebody Somebody Dumbledore opened his morning Prophet to see the headline:

**WEREWOLVES TO REBUILD HOGSMEADE!** screamed out at him in 72 point type. Just under the main headline, in slightly smaller type, the paper proclaimed that _LORD POTTER BACKS MOVE._

Sighing, the headmaster turned to Professor McGonagall. "Minerva, if you would, please let Mr. Potter know that I'd like to see him in my office immediately following breakfast." Then, knowing she would do as he asked, Dumbledore went about the process of eating his breakfast and reading the paper in its entirety, looking for all the world like a man without a care.

* * *

"Harry, you can stop banging your head now. We've all seen the paper, and you're getting enough attention right now without trying to get any more," Justin Finch-Fletchley snickered. His own paper was already folded for easy reading. "You, too, Cedric…so you can both stop sulking and eat up. Merlin knows, you'll probably need your strength," he said, going back to his sausages.

Harry sat quietly for a moment, resting his (now sore) head on the tabletop. Then, with a supreme effort, he raised his head, took a bite of rapidly congealing eggs, and began reading.

He was surprised to find that Remus, as his Seneschal, was the one quoted as saying that werewolves would be recruited to rebuild Hogsmeade. The two had discussed that as one possibility, but nothing had really been decided; nor could it be decided until after the Wizengamot met for the first time since the attack. Under the current law, the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had to sign off on any firm's hiring of more than three werewolves at any one time.

"Harry, I'm certain that Remus wouldn't say something like that," Cedric was speaking softly, leaning in so that only Harry could hear.

"Oh, I know, Ced," Harry said, not raising his head. "I know full well just what kind of twists the _Prophet_ can put on things. It's just…" Harry lifted his head and sighed. "Now we'll have to spend time doing damage control, or giving everyone reassurances, or some other rot. That's time that could be spent doing something else."

"Like snogging your boyfriend?" Cedric grinned.

"Actually, I was thinking…sleeping, but that'll do," Harry grinned back.

"Hmph, it's nice to see just where I rate!" Cedric mock-huffed.

"Well, both things do tend to involve beds…." Harry gave a little leer, which made Cedric lean forward so they could touch foreheads.

"Oh, sweet Merlin, are those two at it again?" Susan Bones walked up, laughing as the boys broke apart.

"Morning, Susan," Cedric said, not rising to his housemate's bait.

"Morning, loverboys," she chirruped back. "Ah, such a glorious morning! The sun is shining….

"Actually, if you'll look up, you'll see that it's overcast, and threatening rain later," Justin said.

Susan pointedly ignored him. "The birds are singing, the happy little forest creatures are laughing and dancing as they go about their merry way…."

"Oh, Merlin, she's gone Disney on us!" Justin laughed, which made Harry spew pumpkin juice out of his nose and the purebloods look at the two muggle-raised students like they had just gone insane.

"Desney? What's 'gone Desney' mean?" Ernie Macmillan asked, thoroughly confused.

"Muggle cartoonist, did a bunch of movies about classic fairy tales, with animals that would flock to singing princesses and stuff," Justin tried to explain, then just shrugged. "It looses everything in translation, I know," he said lamely.

"The best way would be to show them," Harry said, still trying to get the juice out of his sinuses.

"Yeah, but how would we do that?" Justin asked.

"Over the summer Cedric and I found some spells that let us make muggle electronics work around magic," Harry said.

"You know we went to Japan, right? Even their wizards are crazy about their electronics over there," Cedric put in, giving Harry some realistic cover. It helped that it was the absolute truth, but the spells he and Harry had looked at were only just now being developed in Japan and the Americas. But, Justin had no way of knowing that, so they were in the clear.

"Anyway, in a few days, I'll owl my godfather, or Remus, and get them to send us some stuff. Then, we can have a movie night!" Harry said happily.

"Movie night?" Susan asked.

"Yeah, we'll get a room somewhere, with a telly…get some popcorn from the house elves, and maybe some butterbeer…then we'll all sit around and watch movies! My relatives used to do it all the time, except I couldn't watch," Harry said. "It'll be great!"

Justin was nodding enthusiastically, and Cedric was willing to go along with Harry, just because, but the rest of the table didn't look terribly convinced. However, the conversation came to a screeching halt just then, when Professor McGonagall walked up.

"Mr. Potter, am I to assume that you'll be taking all of your meals here, away from your proper house from now on?"

"No, ma'am. Sometimes Cedric and I will sit at the Gryffindor table," Harry said courteously.

McGonagall's lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn't pursue that particular topic. "I see. Well, the Headmaster has requested that you see him in his office immediately after breakfast. Please be prompt."

"Yes, Professor, of course. And the password is..?" Harry paused, expectantly.

McGonagall blinked. "I…he didn't inform me of his new password, Mr. Potter. I'm sorry, I don't know it."

"I see. So, I'm to just stand in the hall, guessing sweets, until I either get lucky or he decides to come down and fetch me." Harry's face and voice didn't change in the slightest. He was still calm and respectful.

"Actually…." McGonagall started, then stopped.

Cedric leaped into the breach. "I think _Reducto_ would be a good password to try on the gargoyle, myself. Either that or 'gravel'," he grinned up at the Professor cheekily. "Maybe the next time the Head would remember to give the password out, along with demands for meetings."

Before she could help it, McGonagall felt her lips twitch. She'd often had the same thought herself. Still, discipline and decorum had to be maintained.

"One point from Hufflepuff for cheek, Mr. Diggory, and for inciting Mr. Potter to damage school property," she said.

"Oh, I wouldn't damage the gargoyle, Professor," Harry said innocently. "I'd just go ahead and destroy it completely. Think of all the time that would save over the course of the year!"

"Brat! One point from Gryffindor for your cheek, as well." Now McGonagall was smiling, as the mental image of a pulverized statue came inexorably to mind. She had no question that Harry Potter could indeed blast Albus' guardian into very small rocks and dust, but still….

"I would suggest that you call a house elf when you arrive, Mr. Potter," she said. "I'm assuming, of course, that the house elves will respond to you outside of the Lords Hall."

"I think they will," Harry nodded. "Thank you, Professor. I don't suppose the Headmaster said just why I was being called in so early in the school year, did he?"

"No, Mr. Potter, but he had just seen the headlines in the morning _Prophet_ when he asked me to notify you." McGonagall and Harry shared a moment of intense eye contact before the Professor turned and strode away.

"Well, forewarned is forearmed, I suppose," Harry said softly.

"Do you want me to come with?" Cedric asked casually.

"No need," Harry answered, just as casually. "He'll rant, I'll plead ignorance and the well-known stupidity of the _Prophet_, he'll cajole, I'll yawn, he'll make a few thinly veiled threats disguised as 'suggestions' or 'for my own good', and I'll leave to go and do what needs doing. Hopefully, he'll only waste half an hour of my time." Harry grimaced.

"Bets on him invoking the 'greater good' at least once?" Cedric smirked.

"No bet." Harry snickered. "Although, if he does say it more than twice, I swear I'll vomit on his carpet."

"Weren't the twins working on a candy for that?" Cedric asked.

"Probably…if not, we need to suggest it to them," Harry grinned.

Just then Hannah Abbott brushed by Harry, leaning over to whisper in his ear. "Thanks for letting me stay until McGonagall left. It meant a lot to both of us." Straightening, she rounded the table, heading for an open seat across from Cedric. As she did, she looked over her shoulder and winked, matching Harry's confident smile. Who knew that the Abbotts—a family gifted (or cursed, depending) with a fair number of mental sensitives—would have trained their daughter in Occulumency since childhood? It had been a bit of a surprise, but a pleasant one for Harry, Neville and Cedric. One more trusted person they could share secrets with, at need….

"Well, Lord Potter, you're certainly in the proper jolly mood to be insisting that Dark, dangerous creatures be used to rebuild Hogsmeade," Zacharias Smith put in snidely from down the table. "Once the werewolves rebuild the village, they can just tear it down again, and start from scratch."

"And so, the vox populi idiotus speaks," Neville said, coming up to sit across the table from Harry. "Tell me, Smith, just how many werewolves have you known?"

"Well, er, ah…shouldn't you be sitting at your own table?" Smith blustered.

"I asked him to sit here, thank you very much," Hannah Abbott said, her voice hovering somewhere around the temperature of liquid nitrogen. "Budge over, Longbottom, you great lump," she said fondly, scooting closer to Neville. "Be a dear and pass the marmalade," she ordered, reaching for the toast.

Neville just smiled and nudged her shoulder, then reached for the marmalade. "Morning, oh most lovely of all the women in the world."

"Oh, Morgana, they're traveling in flocks now! Or has somebody been dosing those four with Amortentia?" Susan Bones laughed, and was joined by most of the rest of the table as Neville, Hannah, Harry and Cedric all blushed.

* * *

A short while later, after a quick hallway conference with Neville, Hannah and Cedric, Harry stood outside the Headmaster's office. He flirted with the thought of actually threatening the gargoyle, just to see if he could make it react, but then decided to save that particular little test for another day. Snapping his fingers, he was pleased to see that Makky popped in immediately.

"Good morning, Makky," he smiled down at the little elf. "Could you please go tell the Headmaster that I'm here, and waiting?"

Beaming at being asked rather than ordered, the creature popped out, then back. "Makky is telling the Headmaster, sir!" he piped.

Thanks, Makky," Harry said, dismissing the elf as the gargoyle slid aside. A few moments later, Harry was in the Headmaster's office, looking around for any signs of change from his last visit. If there had been any changes, he couldn't see them.

Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk, the morning's paper lying face up in front of him.

"Good morning, Harry," he said, eyes twinkling merrily. "Have a seat. Lemon drop?" he said cordially, gesturing to the dish where his potion-laced candies resided.

"Thank you, no, Headmaster," Harry said, taking a seat in one of the Headmaster's overstuffed chairs. "You asked to see me, sir?" he said, trying to get to the point of the meeting as soon as possible.

"Yes, Harry, I did. Have you seen the _Prophet_ this morning?"

"Yes, Headmaster, I have," and I also know that you can see me getting the paper from your seat in the Great Hall, old man, Harry thought, keeping his eyes away from the Headmaster's. "Was there something in the paper that directly pertains to my education here at Hogwarts?" he asked, deciding to cut straight to the chase."

"Not directly, no, but…"

"Then I fail to see what business it is of yours," Harry said firmly, cutting the Headmaster off. Pushing as much strength into his Occulumency shields as he could, he starting playing random pop songs in his head.

Albus started, unused to being cut off, much less spoken to, the way Harry had just done.

"Harry, I…."

"Mr. Potter, please, Headmaster; or Lord Potter, if we are speaking about Wizengamot business. 'Harry' is for my friends," Harry said coldly.

Albus paused, then really looked at the expression on Harry's face before going on.

"Mr. Potter, I merely wanted to express my concerns over how today's article might affect the public's opinion of you. You are one of our leading citizens, and for you to seem to be advocating for the rights of Dark creatures…" Dumbledore began the speech he had prepared earlier.

"Your concern is noted, Headmaster, but my business affairs are no concern of yours," Harry said shortly. "So, if there's nothing else…" he said, starting to rise.

"Be seated, Mr. Potter!" the Headmaster's voice cracked, and Harry felt the old man's power push at him. He braced himself, then looked directly into eyes that were no longer twinkling.

I wonder how he does the 'twinkle' thing? Harry pushed the though to the front of his mind, then focused on the sound a drum set might make as it fell down an elevator shaft.

A very long elevator shaft. A very big drum set. With lots of cymbals.

Dumbledore stared into Harry's eyes, his brow furrowing as he only was able to pick up a large crashing sound. It was hardly pleasant, and quite effective at keeping him from probing too deeply into the boy's mind.

"Mr. Potter, while your business interests are of course your own, your actions while a student here at Hogwarts reflect on the entire school. I would urge you to consider the effect statements like this," he waved to the paper, "will have on public sentiment."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, and Albus allowed himself a small moment of exultation. Then, Harry looked him directly in the eye once more.

"You're absolutely correct, Headmaster, and I apologize for any difficulty which my Seneschal's statements might have caused the school. I'll be out of the castle within the hour," he said, starting to rise once more.

"WHAT? You'll do no such thing!" Albus all but exploded from his chair. "Harry…Mr. Potter," he corrected himself quickly, scrambling to take back control of the conversation. "I certainly didn't mean to suggest that you were being expelled! Far from it, my boy," he said, the urgency in his voice quite apparent.

"Oh, I didn't take it that way at all, Professor," Harry said calmly. "However, I would hate for my actions to have a negative impact on Hogwarts' reputation, and I'm certainly capable of completing my education elsewhere." He paused, thinking. "It's possibly too late for me to apply to Beauxbatons or Durmstrang, but exceptions might be made for Cedric and I…and probably Neville, as well," Harry mused, watching Dumbledore's expression go from shock to horror as he kept rambling. "Then of course, there's always Salem, or perhaps the Southern Magical Institute—I hear that New Orleans is quite the metropolitan city, and very warm compared to Scotland—or perhaps Peru. I did enjoy my time in Japan, but I'm not really sure that I'd enjoy living in Tokyo, though. Even if I did stay here in England, there are more than enough private tutors available for the three of us to complete our educations."

Harry paused, enjoying the ashen look on Dumbledore's face. "It seems that the past few years have seen quite the rise in private tuition in England, Professor; especially in areas like History of Magic, Potions and Defense. I wonder just why that is?" he asked icily. Left unspoken was what they both knew: under Dumbledore's leadership, Hogwarts' educational quality had plummeted. While there were still excellent teachers on the staff—Flitwick, McGonagall, Vector and Sprout were all top-notch—certain other glaring deficits could not be ignored.

"Ha…Mr. Potter, your parents…" Dumbledore began weakly.

"As I told Professor McGonagall, my parents received their education here, and are now dead. I don't plan to follow their example." Harry sat on the edge of his seat, not moving.

"But you need training…" Dumbledore tried again.

"Which, thus far, has been sorely lacking, and almost entirely at my own initiative…unless, of course, you count all of the little 'challenges' you've arranged for me to face each year. Tell me, Professor, just when were you planning on telling me the entire prophecy about Voldemort and myself?"

"How did you learn about that?" Dumbledore snapped upright, eyes blazing.

Harry looked away, and shrugged. "It wasn't difficult," he said, then purposefully focused his attention on a spot to the left of the Headmaster's elbow. If Dumbledore started to reach for his wand, Harry wanted to know.

A breeze began to stir in the office as the power of both wizards began to build. Before it could do more than ruffle Harry's hair or Albus' beard, the doorway to the office crashed open.

"Headmaster! Have you seen this outrage?" Delores Umbridge waddled into the Headmaster's office like a charging pink hippo.

"Ah, Madam Umbridge…I believe you know Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, suddenly the picture of urbane calm.

"Oh, yes! Yes, I know _Mr._ Potter," Umbridge hissed, turning to face Harry. "We met at his trial over the summer, I believe, where his barrister was able to get him off on a _technicality_."

Harry stared back at the great lump of a woman. "If you call the _law_ a _technicality_, then I suppose you could look at it like that," he said calmly. He figured that Umbridge would be like Hermione in that the more calm you were in dealing with her, the more unhinged she would become. "Of course, if the Ministry had been doing it's _job_, then there wouldn't have been any _need_ for a trial, now would there?" The subtle emphasis he put on his words was just enough to make a vessel in Umbridge's forehead throb.

Umbridge sputtered for a moment, then rounded on the Headmaster. "Professor Dumbledore, I demand to know just what steps you are prepared to take against this student! As a former Head of the Dark Creature Control Office, I can tell you that…."

"That this has nothing at all to do with Hogwarts," Harry cut her off sharply, "as I was just discussing with Professor Dumbledore, here. Obviously, Mr. Lupin was misquoted by the _Prophet_, which I find is the case more often than not, worthless rag that it is. Personally, I'm not going to do anything until I have a chance to speak with Remus face to face. Then, and only then, will we decide what's to be done…up to and including taking legal action against the _Prophet_." His peace said, Harry leaned back and got comfortable. For some reason, he felt a show coming on….

He wasn't disappointed. Umbridge lit into first him, then Dumbledore, then both of them at once, promising the wrath of the Ministry brought down upon their heads in so many interesting ways that Harry was tempted to make notes. Eventually, though, the toad-woman ran down, collapsing into another of Dumbledore's hideous chairs with a sweaty flop.

Harry raised one eyebrow at Dumbledore, who merely gazed back calmly.

"Well, that was a very informative speech, Madam Umbridge," Harry said. "I'll have to remember parts of it for my next insane rant. In the meantime, I really do need to go and firecall Remus, to see just what this is all really about. Professor, if you'll excuse me?" he said, then beat a hasty retreat at Dumbledore's nod.

"Let the old coot deal with short, fat and toady," he muttered to himself as he passed the gargoyle. And how the hell did she know the password, anyway?"

* * *

His boyfriend, who was only mildly concerned about how long he had been gone, met Harry at the door to his suite. One quick embrace and brush of lips, and Cedric was pulling him into the sitting room.

"Well, I like that!" Harry laughed. "No, 'how did it go?', or 'oh, love, are you all right?', just squeeze, smack and drag! The least you could do is check for bruises," he said.

"Shut it, you," Cedric snapped fondly. "Remus has been going spare on the mirror, and I told him I'd put you on straightaway as you walked in the door."

Figuring as much, Harry sat down and pulled Cedric down right beside him, where they could bump shoulders. Picking up the small mirror, he called out "Remus! Sirius! Oi! Grimmauld Place!"

The mirror shimmied then cleared immediately, showing an anxious Remus Lupin and smiling Sirius Black. "Oh, thank Merlin," Remus said all in a rush. "Harry, you must understand, I never said anything like what the Prophet reported, I'm certain that it's caused you all manner of trouble but that was never my intention…."

"I'd fire him if I were you, pup. He's obviously incompetent, not to mention he sheds," Sirius said, waving.

Harry just snorted at his godfather. "He doesn't shed a tenth of what you do, Snuffles. Now, stuff it while the adults work this out. Remus, if there's anyone who knows about the _Prophet_, it's me, remember? So, no harm, no foul. Dumbles is in a right state, but oddly enough, not upset enough to let me leave his little castle. What I'm more concerned with is how to play this to our advantage."

Remus' relief was obvious, as was his shock at Harry's last statement. Sirius, however, was leaning in to the mirror, his eyes intent.

"Pup, are you suggesting what I think you are?" the Lord Black asked.

"If you think I'm suggesting that we use werewolves to help us rebuild, then yes, I am," Harry said. "Remus, how many otherwise good people are there who're in desperate straights just because they've been bitten? Dozens? Hundreds? And where would we go to find them?"

Remus paused, caught unprepared by the question. "There are several hundreds in the major packs," he said, thinking furiously. "But, they tend to keep to themselves in their villages, and not to mingle too much with either the muggle or magical communities. Most of them are born werewolves, anyway, so they don't know any other way of life. As for the rest, the bitten who never found a pack, like me," he paused, glancing at Sirius' hand on his shoulder. "They are forced to register with the Ministry's Dark Creature Control Office," he shuddered, remembering his experiences there. "After that, they're required to inform any potential employer of their status prior to being hired, as well as report any possible new cases they may cause while they are transformed."

"So, they're monitored, and they're expected to turn in their victims, as well?" Harry said, shocked. "Well, I shouldn't be surprised—it's the Ministry, after all—but still…." he trailed off.

"Just so," Remus said. "So, I suppose that we could always go the Ministry…."

"No. Just…no." Harry said definitely. "Do this…start thinking about ways to keep them, and everyone else safe, both short-term and over the long haul. There'll be no shortage of work for strong backs and quick hands in Hogsmeade in the weeks to come; but they'll need housing, and food, and a place to spend the full moon. We've got, what..? Almost two weeks until the next full moon?" Harry asked.

"Assuming that we can get everything else worked out, what about Wolfsbane, Harry?" Remus asked quietly. "It's far too expensive for the average man or woman to afford."

"Not any more," Harry said determinedly. "Contact St. Mungo's, and L'hôpital de Miracles to start; see about getting their best price for one hundred doses of Wolfsbane a month for the next year. If there are any other possible suppliers that you can think of, ask them. I'll talk with Snape about mass-brewing the stuff; we've got the best Potions Master in England right here, I see no reason not to use his expertise."

"Aside from Snivelius' sunny disposition, that is," Sirius put in.

Harry grinned, but otherwise ignored his godfather. "The main thing is going to be what to do with everyone during the nights of the full moon, and then the next day while they're recovering."

"Most of the individuals rely on their families to take care of them after the change," Remus said, his eyes a bit haunted. For too many years, he'd been on his own, and was still getting used to the fact that he had a 'family' to care for him.

"So, we'll move their families to Hogsmeade," Harry shrugged, casually making a decision that would horrify people the length and breadth of Great Britain. "Even the ones who aren't magical know about the wizarding world, don't they? I mean, if there's a werewolf in the family it's a bit hard to keep something like that a secret…"

"You'd be surprised," Remus quipped, then smiled. "No, very few of the bitten come from muggle families, or if they do, they leave them almost immediately. The ones that don't…that stay because they want to infect their families, or worse…well, we don't want them, anyway."

"That brings up something else," Harry said. "I don't want a bunch of Greyback's thugs, either. Maybe I'm naïve about all of this, but the ones I want are people like you, Remus…otherwise good people who've been bitten, and would like a chance to be decent members of society again. If nothing else, can we get muggle background checks, or the Ministry equivalent, run on our possible hires?"

"That would go a long way towards keeping us out of trouble with the Ministry," Sirius said. "I can't see Madam Bones objecting, if we told her what we were about."

"I'll get Dad on that right away," Cedric said. "He can feel her out before we have to ask for anything formal, while Remus is getting everything else lined up."

"Good idea, Cedric…if you'd handle owling him, I'd appreciate it," Remus smiled.

"We need someplace secure…" Harry mused, then sat bolt upright. "Goblins!"

Cedric, Remus and Sirius all reacted with versions of 'what?' to Harry's outburst, as he rushed to explain.

"We get the Goblins involved, at least at first," Harry said excitedly. "What's more secure than Gringotts, right? So, we get the Goblins to lease us a large vault, make it 'wolf-safe', and portkey our wolves into it right before the moon comes up. We put some chunks of meat, and some water in it, and give everyone a dose of Wolfsbane right before they go in. The next morning, we portkey them back to their families, or to a central facility for 'morning after' treatment. Won't that work, until we can get something better built?" he asked.

There was a long pause as the idea was considered. Sirius was the first to speak.

"I don't know about that many wolves in a vault. I mean, what if a fight broke out? Things could get ugly, and we'd have no way to get to them."

"You wouldn't want to get in the way of fighting werewolves anyway, Sirius," Remus snorted. "Remember, there were times when it took you and Prongs both to manage me, and I was still just a kid. No," he shook his head, "you'll have to rely on the cooler heads—and isn't that just a wrong concept when talking about werewolves—to control situations like that. I'd want to be very sure about who I was going into that vault with before I'd risk it," he said finally.

"So, you're in charge of hiring, Remus…don't hire anyone that you won't want to go into the vault with, or fire them if they slip past you," Harry suggested.

"That…might work, at least for the short term."

"Long-term, I'm thinking that we'll need a purpose-built facility, or more forest space than I think we have left in England or Scotland for them to run around in. How practical are trans-Atlantic portkeys?" Harry asked.

"Expensive, and rough on the system," Sirius answered immediately. "You're thinking Canada or America, I presume?" Seeing Harry nod, he paused, thinking. "There's certainly enough forest there, but I'm not sure how the locals would respond to us dropping a few hundred werewolves on them once a month. South America or Africa might be a better choice, if we have to do something like that."

"Ask the ICW," Cedric suggested, then smirked at the shocked looks. "What? I mean, really…we've got this international body, why not see if they can do something useful? If nothing else, get them to tell you that they've got nothing better to offer than what we've already come up with."

"Boy's got a point," Sirius laughed. "Remind me why he hasn't gotten his Marauder name yet?"

"Because we've been just a bit busy with things that actually matter," Harry laughed. "We'll get right on it, though," he said, seeing Sirius' sour expression. "Sirius, could you take care of dealing with the ICW, please?" he asked, to which Sirius smiled and nodded. "Now, what else?"

"Construction crews, and supplies," Remus said promptly. "I've sent out owls already, and was going to start investigating building suppliers today, after Sirius and I came back from the Ministry. We've got to get permits before we even get building plans, apparently," he explained to Harry. "There aren't that many wizarding architects, but a few squibs do most of the work that's ever been needed. Most wizards just magic up four walls and a roof, and hope that the nails hold," he said.

"I've seen the Burrow," Harry said dryly. "One good Finite, and the whole thing would come down."

"Exactly," Remus said. "Of course, there are a number of house plans already drawn up and on file with the various firms, but Sirius and I…the house we bought, that was going to be a surprise," he said sourly, "was going to have to be remodeled for us. Now that it's a pile of burned timber and stone, things are actually harder in some ways, easier in others." He sighed. "I hope that Tom's happy with all the trouble he's putting me to," he finished.

Harry couldn't help but laugh at Remus' complaining. "I'll be sure to tell him, the next time we talk," Harry said happily. "Sirius, why don't you have Lucius pass that message along?"

"I just might do that," Sirius said. "I'm going to tea at his Manor in a few days, and I'm sure that he'll appreciate Remus' position. We're also going to talk about…other things," he said, grinning.

"Keep me posted," Harry said. "He'll probably be getting complaints about 'that crazy Potter' in a few days, anyway. Give him my love, won't you?" Harry gave a saccharine smile to the mirror; making Sirius laugh so hard he fell out of view.

"There is something else I'd like to talk about," Cedric put in carefully. "Remus, I suspect that you'll have trouble getting any construction company to agree to hire werewolves. So, I think that we should start our own. I've got funds of my own, and so does Harry and Sirius; enough to take care of our initial costs and then some. Plus, I think that it's not only good for the werewolves, but could be good for the community as a whole. If Hogsmeade isn't rebuilt, then the Dark Lord wins. By forcing a rebuilding on our terms, we win…and make a point. I think that, if we move a number of lycan-affected families here for the rebuilding, they'll probably stay. That may make some people leave…but on the other hand, if we give those people a stable home, then they'll fight for it." He paused, then pressed on. "I, for one, would hate to face a few dozen werewolves who were defending their homes and families and friends," he finished.

"Well…that's certainly ambitious," Remus began, then stopped as he was overwhelmed by the enormity of what Cedric had just suggested.

"You're talking about making werewolves respected members of the largest wizarding community in Britain…you know that, don't you?" Sirius asked. "I like it!" he said, lightly pounding Remus on the shoulder.

"That might just be the thing to make Tommy think twice before attacking Hogsmeade again," Harry said. "Of course, that one night of the months…" he trailed off.

"How would the Death Eaters know that there weren't a few Wolfsbaned-up wolves hanging around as a 'welcoming committee' on that one night?" Cedric asked.

"That would certainly make things interesting," Remus said, his grin feral. His wolf was rising at the thought of being able to give a little retribution back to Fenrir Greyback at some point in the very near future. Then, a thought occurred to him. "I wonder…" he began, then went silent.

"What?" Harry and Cedric both asked, then laughed at each other.

"I was just wondering if our friend Little Jacque could make me something like Harry's bracelet, that would survive the change but let me cast spells in my other form?" Remus wondered. Of course, there was no way of knowing, but all of them had a bit of fun thinking about the implications if it could be done. Harry in particular was intrigued by the thought of a few dozen spell-casting werewolves—fast, strong, tough, magic-resistant, fast-healing werewolves—at his back when he finally went against Tom and his merry band.

"Sounds like we're going to be training them to be some kind of Home Guard," Cedric said. "Do you think Mad-Eye will object to some extra work?"

"Actually, I think that Madam Bones will probably be forced to expand the Auror corps," Sirius said. "If we can get the facilities built quickly enough, there's no reason why some of that training can't be done in Scotland as well or better than around London and the Midlands. Harry and I can use our seats on the Wizengamot to push for a unit of Auror trainees, at the very least, to be stationed in Hogsmeade. Sorry, Pup, but that just occurred to me yesterday, and I haven't had time to even discuss it with Remus yet," he apologized.

"Something else we need to keep in mind," Harry sighed. "No, it's a great idea, Sirius. It's just that there's so much that needs to be done…" he sighed again.

"That's why you've got me, and Sirius, and Cedric; to help you carry the load," Remus said. "Don't take too much on yourself, Harry, pass as much as you can along."

"That goes for you, too, Remus," Harry insisted. "If…when your job gets too much, I expect you to tell me, so that we can get you some help, as well. Understand?"

"Completely," Remus smiled. "Now, I'm sure that there are dozens more things that we can talk about, but I have to get Sirius ready to go to the Ministry. Owl me!" he said, then closed the connection.

Harry leaned back with a great sigh, pulling Cedric's arm around him.

"I can see that I'll need to get on those large mirrors soonest," Cedric said, nuzzling Harry's hair.

"Mmm…not right now you won't," he said, putting his arm around his fiancé and snuggling closer. "It's time for my mid-morning snuggle-nap," he declared, and shifted until he was comfortably draped across Cedric.

"Mid-morning snuggle-nap? Just how are we supposed to go to classes while you're getting this 'mid-morning snuggle-nap'?" Cedric asked softly, shifting himself as well.

"Sod classes. I quit," Harry said, his eyes closed. "Oh, wait, I tried that; Dumbles wouldn't let me. Got to get expelled, then," he said, still not moving.

"Well, let's see if this will do the trick," Cedric laughed softly, settling down to enjoy his own mid-morning snuggle nap.

It just seemed the reasonable thing to do.

* * *

In his office, Albus Dumbledore had finally managed to get Delores Umbridge to leave so that he could fume in peace. The Ministry flunky was a minor distraction, at best, but she had done him a service by disrupting his meeting with Harry Potter. The little wretch had no idea just how close he had come to being hexed and obliviated, then sent on his way under a subtle version of the Imperious that Albus had learned from Gellert Grindelwald more years ago than he cared to remember.

Of course, then he would have had the tiresome job of 'adjusting' the paintings, but he had done that so many times over the past few years that he could almost do it in his sleep. Still, he didn't have time this morning to deal with that; his weapon was displaying signs of a disturbing trend towards independent thought, which he absolutely could not allow!

Dumbledore resolved to get the boy down to Madam Pomphrey at the first available opportunity, and the back up Longbottom, as well. That the two of them were getting along so well was a bad sign, and steps needed to be taken to keep them separated. If they realized just how much power and influence they could command together, much less their families' long history of cooperation, all of his plans could be seriously threatened. The first step in that process would be to get one or both of them out of that damned Lords Hall and back into Gryffindor Tower, where they could be properly watched over and distracted at need. A bit more compulsion, that would be all it would take for that useless near-squib Longbottom to cave in and go running back to his 'friends'; the youngest Weasley boy was an old hand at sticking to Potter like glue, and his jealous streak and abrasive personality would force an acceptable distance between Potter and Longbottom. After all, he'd done a spectacular job of interposing himself between them for the past four years; there was no reason why he shouldn't be able to continue doing the same thing.

He was still a bit shaken at just how casually Potter had threatened to leave the castle. He had worked far too hard over the years to insure that Hogwarts was the only place that Potter felt at home; obviously the summer spent with his 'boyfriend' and godfather had undone much of Albus' hard work. He absolutely could not allow his weapon to slip from his control…and somehow, the brat seemed to know it!

Dumbledore could see that he was going to have to accept a certain amount of insolence from the boy before circumstances allowed him to be brought to heel once more.

Perhaps this werewolf article was a blessing in disguise. Certainly it would garner Fudge's ire, since it made him look like the fool he was. Also, the fear of the common witch or wizard would generate more anti-Potter sentiment than the boy could possibly handle. It was high time that Albus stopped shielding the brat and let him feel the full consequences of his actions!

Yes, of course! That would certainly be the best thing to do: merely step quietly aside with a rueful shake of his head and 'I'm only the boy's Headmaster', and let the public tear the Boy-Who-Lived to shreds. Perhaps most enjoyable of all, his own involvement in the whole debacle would be minimal, at best! His only true effort would be to welcome the boy back into his care and stewardship with open arms, once he 'had learned his lesson'.

Albus' grin was a disturbing thing as he contemplated Potter's impending destruction.

* * *

Cornelius Fudge had generally recovered from the shock of the front page when a knock sounded at his door.

"Mr. Secretary, Amos Diggory is here to see you," his secretary said.

"Send him in," Fudge barked, reaching in his desk for a stomach-soothing potion.

"Good morning, Minister!" Amos was all smiles, which made Fudge want to hex him.

"Maybe for you," the Minister muttered, then waved the man to a seat. "Sorry, Amos, it's not your fault that I'm having a bad day…bloody _Prophet_."

"Actually, Minister, I'm afraid that I'm here in relation to that very thing," Amos began, still smiling. "I've just had a fire-call from my boy Cedric…you remember, he's betrothed to Lord Potter, and they're back at Hogwarts now…and he was absolutely livid about what the _Prophet_ is saying. He wanted me to extend his—and Lord Potter's—most sincere apologies to you, and ask if you would be interested in joining them in taking legal action against the _Prophet_."

Fudge leaned back, stunned. This was not something that he'd expected, but…. "Well, Amos, I don't really know what to say. Oh, I won't be able to take any legal action against the rag, public figure and all that," he said, glaring down at his paper. "I am a bit surprised that the boys sent you here straight away to discuss it with me."

"Minister, I've Harry's—Lord Potter's—assurances that his Seneschal was quoted far, far out of context. While Lord Potter is, of course, very much concerned with the plight of those poor unfortunates who, through no fault of their own, have been infected with lycanthropy, using them to rebuild Hogsmeade is certainly not something that he would suggest without first having extensive discussions with the Ministry."

"Well, I'm certainly happy to hear that," Fudge said, relaxing. How interesting! The boy was certainly sending the right signals. Perhaps this was Potter's way of opening up his relationship with the Ministry, or a sign that he and Dumbledore weren't as close as Fudge had assumed.

Amos Diggory smiled, watching the Minister's face closely. "Unfortunately, the _Prophet_ has opened up a tremendous can of worms on all of us, with their lead story today. What began as an idea bandied about over tea and biscuits is suddenly the topic of the hour, and both my Cedric and Lord Potter hope that there might be some good to come out of the whole debacle."

"Oh?" Fudge said, expecting the worst.

"Since everyone is already talking about it, Lord Potter feels that it behooves all of us to make sure that the discussion taking place is honest, fact-based and above-board. If we rely only on the _Prophet_, how will the public get the facts? Harry's—Lord Potter's—main concern at this point is to provide a counter to the lies and hysteria that the _Prophet_ is using to sell papers."

"They're certainly going to do that," Fudge said. Long experience had taught him that this kind of panic virtually guaranteed a second, even a third print run. "So, what kinds of things does Lord Potter have in mind?"

"Not a lot, actually," Amos smiled, getting ready to make the pitch. "He's prepared to issue a statement now, with the possibility of an interview later, to the effect that his Seneschal was taken out of context. He is open to the idea of providing honest labor for our infected who are otherwise good citizens, and intends to work hand-in-glove with the Ministry to see that they receive proper care while insuring the public safety. He's instructed his Seneschal—who was infected as a child, by the way—to contact St. Mungo's and other suppliers to arrange for large quantities of Wolfsbane potion to be brewed. He also wants it known that several options for sequestering the infected during the full moon, as well as providing recuperative care the following days, are being investigated." Amos paused, then leaned forward confidentially. "He won't be saying this in his statement, but the best idea that's come up thus far is to lock them in a vault at Gringotts during the full moon, and not let them out until the next morning."

Fudge couldn't help himself…he had the first good laugh of the morning at that thought! "And just what do the goblins think about that?" he said, when he could speak once more.

Amos had the grace to blush. "Well, that's something that hasn't been discussed with them yet, which is why Lord Potter didn't want to bring it up."

"I should say not!" Fudge smiled. He liked what he was hearing more and more. It had the great advantage of being openly humane and progressive, while putting the whole thing on Potter's shoulders. All Fudge had to do was be the voice of reason and restraint, until the public's verdict was in. If that verdict was good, and Potter could pull it off, Fudge could claim at least partial credit for making it work. If it failed spectacularly (as he expected it to), then it hadn't cost him anything. It suited his politician's soul perfectly.

"Amos, I'll have to see the details, of course."

"Of course, Minister," Amos nodded.

"And, there will have to be involvement from the Dark Creature Control Office, and the DMLE, I should think. Still," he said, waving his hand, "I see nothing that can't be managed or overcome, with a bit of effort and good faith. I take it that Lord Potter would also like for me to make a complimentary statement?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"If you would, Minister," Amos smiled. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I know that you're a busy man, and I need to get back with Lord Potter as soon as possible."

Fudge merely nodded as his underling showed himself out. Gazing down at the paper, he began thinking about just what his own statement needed to say….

* * *

Lord Voldemort was in a fine mood after having read the morning Prophet. Really, he should do something nice for those fools for being so dependable. He couldn't have gotten better press if he had written it himself! Maybe he should offer them an exclusive interview…and use it to announce his return…. So much to ponder!

At any rate, he knew exactly what had happened. Potter's Seneschal, a wolf himself, had made a fairly neutral statement that the Prophet's scandalmongers had blown all out of proportion. No one with any sense could possibly see any other reading of the mess, which of course meant that the bulk of the Prophet's readers would take it as gospel.

Riddle sighed to himself. There were times when he wondered if the sheeple were even worth leading, foolish creatures that they were. Then, he sipped his tea, and those silly thoughts went right away.

Now, how to best turn this headline even further to his advantage? He wasn't concerned one way or another about any werewolves that might be used in the rebuilding. Most of the independent wolves could be bullied about by a strong alpha like Greyback, just like the majority of the tribes. Oh, there were a few tribal villages where the local pack alpha was strong enough to stand up to his minion, but not enough to matter. No, those few 'lone wolves'—he snickered to himself at the phrase—that Potter and his tame wolf managed to round up would be much more trouble than they could ever possibly be worth. Potter and his agents would be forced to provide them Wolfsbane, and a safe place for the full moon, and then bandage them up afterwards. He would never, ever think about using them against an enemy; the public would crucify him if he even suggested such a thing. So, all of the advantages that a solid cadre of weres could bring to the Light—strength, speed, resilience, enhanced senses, just to name a few—would be wasted on putting up walls that his Death Eaters could burn down in another night of fun and frivolity

Still, it wouldn't do to let Potter steal a march on him. Summoning parchment and quill, he scratched out a quick letter to Greyback, ordering him to find a solitary wolf or three to plant in the workforce that Potter's man—Lupin, that was his name, and just how ironic was that? It couldn't be the man's real name—would be recruiting. Having a man on the ground would make it just that much easier to plan his next strike at Hogsmeade. The timing of the next attack would have to be carefully thought out. Too soon, and there wouldn't be anything there worth destroying. Wait too long, and some bright soul at the Ministry might actually decide to put an Auror squad there. Not that a squad of Aurors could actually do much to stop an attack by his Death Eaters, but they could prove an inconvenience. His troops were still in a state of exultation over the ease of the last attack, and he wanted to preserve that illusion of invulnerability as long as possible. It was only a matter of time before Dumbledore or Potter convinced Fudge to pull his head out of his rectum and do something useful, and then the losses on both sides would, of necessity, go up significantly.

The most important thing taken care of, Riddle began going back over the follow-up articles carefully. There was a brief mention about the offer of international assistance, but the Ministry had declined any such aid. Well, good! Scratching out another note to a sympathizer in France, Voldemort "encouraged" him to begin spreading the opinion that giving any aid to the ever-so-irritating British would be not only unwise, but also unappreciated. Given the propensity of the man to gossip, his 'opinion' would be spread from Paris to Kamchatka by the end of the week.

Not for the first time, Riddle found himself grinding his teeth about the state of his support in the Americas. He had essentially no support at all in Canada, and aside from a few small pockets of blue bloods in New England, almost no support in the United States. There was a significant cadre of blood purists in Mexico, with roots going back to the early phases of the Spanish conquest, where the second and third sons of magical Spain married the daughters of the Aztec wizard-priests, but every single emissary he had sent to them had been returned in multiple containers. As jaded as he was, even Voldemort had shuddered at what had been done to his men before they were packaged for shipping.

Apparently, they considered _everyone's_ blood—aside from their own, of course—to be too debased to even consider opening up communications. Especially that of the English! While Tom could certainly appreciate the mindset, he was still a bit miffed at the insinuations that had accompanied the bits and pieces of his minions.

So, between the generally laid-back and egalitarian United States, the relentlessly self-involved Canadians, the bloody descendents of Castile and Tenochtitlan, and the Peruvians—who considered everything south of the Yucatan to be their own personal playground—Voldemort had never been able to gain a foothold in the New World. Of course, it didn't help that every year or so, a new Dark Wizard rose up somewhere in South America, only to be squished like a cockroach under the foot of the Peruvians and ICW. Apparently, none of those Dark Wizards had ever wanted the competition he represented, so any hope of an alliance inevitably was squashed, as well.

Leaning back, the Dark Lord took a moment to consider what else he might be doing in places other than England to strengthen his position. The Americas were a lost cause, at least for the moment. Africa was, well…Africa. The Dark Continent had been the birthplace of man, if the archeologists were to be believed, and then been in a steady decline ever since. With the great, glaring exception of Egypt, where most of what could be considered 'modern' magic had been born, the rest of the continent had always been a festering morass of warring tribal factions too intent on decimating each other to every build anything of substance. No, Africa would be a major effort to tame, and he had more urgent things to occupy his time.

As for the rest of the world…well, he was immortal, after all. The Middle East was firmly in the grip of the Wizard Imams and their djinns; China and the Far East had their own way of doing magic that he would have to master before he could even contemplate expanding his rule over them. Asia would present its own unique difficulties, as well; he wasn't looking forward to digging the monks and tribal sorcerers out of their mountains.

All in all, it seemed a daunting task, this global domination. Good thing he had, literally, all the time in the world to go about it!

**A/N: **before you flame me: consider that Voldemort is just a bit prejudiced and Brit-centric, and I've tried to write him as such. If you'll note, his interpretation of the newspaper headline is a bit different from, say, Fudge's.

Ah, who am I kidding? Go ahead, flame me! Every review counts! _*heh heh heh*_

Special thanks to **RRW**, who caught my slip-up with Hannah in Harry's room, which I then had to fix in this chapter.

**ReaderMike** has asked (appropriately) why portkeys aren't used en masse to transport supplies directly into the storage dungeons of Hogwarts. My explanation is that portkeys are a fairly advanced magic that not everyone can make (seriously—Molly Weasley making a portkey? Please…), and even then the energy involved is directly related to the mass involved. So, moving a few people takes a fair amount of energy, but it's manageable. Moving large amounts of supplies (building materials, foodstuffs, etc.) is just too tiring to be practical on a regular basis. There will be some emergency supplies portkeyed in, but not pallets of goodies. One more thing: Albus won't adjust the wards to allow direct portkey entrance to his storage areas because of security concerns—one quick DE raid to snatch a portkey, then 'poof!' into the castle to run amok amok amok! That would be, as they say, a bad thing.

**Next Chapter:** Cedric and Professor Sprout have a meeting, and the rebuilding continues.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **An unpleasant morning in the Great Hall, meetings with the Headmaster that don't involve Harry or Cedric *gasp*, and Professor Sprout meets with Cedric about…certain Hufflepuff secrets that have heretofore only been hinted at.

**Disclaimer: **no change from previous disclaimer. I still don't own Harry Potter or any other creation of JKR, nor of the other characters that I may borrow from the world of fiction. A few of them are mine (mainly, the ones you've never seen anywhere else), but for the most past I'm just borrowing. And, I'm not making any profit from this, except for the reviews I get.

**Chapter 11**

_Denotes Flashback_

The next morning's _Prophet_ caused almost as much commotion as the previous day's edition.

Harry's statement—which was actually a committee effort between Harry, Cedric, Remus, Sirius and Amos—was sent out not only to the _Prophet_, but also to the _Crystal Ball_, the _Quibbler_, and _Witch Weekly_. It had been Amos' idea to send it to all of the major papers and periodicals in order to force the _Prophet_ to publish it, or be scooped by another source.

The Minister's statement, naturally, was almost impossible for the _Prophet_ to ignore, but a gentle suggestion from Amos was all it took for all of the other sources to receive copies as well. That way, as Amos reminded Fudge, those people who ignored the _Prophet_ would see just how the Minister was actively working to expedite the rebuilding of Hogsmeade while helping those 'poor souls' who had been bitten and contracted lycanthropy.

Of course, Fudge was still counting on Harry's reputation taking the hit if the idea came a cropper. Nonetheless, the _Ball_, _Quibbler _and _Weekly_ received copies of both statements, to their great surprise and joy.

**MINISTER BACKS POTTER PLAN!** proclaimed the _Prophet's_ headline, but it only merited 48-point type. Obviously, Fudge's cooperation wasn't nearly as scandalous as catching out Harry Potter's right hand man. Still and all, it generated quite the buzz of conversation in the Great Hall.

At the high table, Delores Umbridge was fit to be tied.

"Headmaster! Surely you are going to take steps to see that Mr. Potter is prevented from supporting such a rash and dangerous act," the toad woman fumed.

"Alas, Madam Umbridge, I am only Mr. Potter's Headmaster, not the Minister himself. As Mr. Potter has been emancipated, there is very little I can do to influence his business decisions…except, of course, offer him my best council, which he has refused." There, Albus thought, tell Cornelius that, you sorry excuse for a witch.

"But…but…but…the Wizengamot…" Umbridge wasn't done yet.

"As you will recall, Delores, I resigned my position as Chief Warlock to focus all of my time and efforts on my duties as Headmaster. Alas, it now seems that my timing was somewhat inopportune, but what is done, is done. I'm certain that the next Chief Warlock will take any and all steps that he…."

"Or _she_, Albus. Don't forget, the next Chief 'Warlock' might just be the Chief 'Witch'," Septima Vector cut in lightly.

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes twinkling. "I stand corrected, my dear Septima. Our next Chief Warlock…or Witch, as the case may be…will be in a position to take any and all steps that may be needed to oversee this bold experiment Mr. Potter seems to be proposing."

"So, you're just going to sit here and let them bring all of those Dark creatures to your very doorstep?" Umbridge was now spraying the area in front of her more copiously than usual.

Dumbledore let himself droop just a bit, and sighed for effect. "Unfortunately, I don't see that I have any choice in the matter, if the Minister decides to allow Mr. Potter and his Seneschal to go forward with their plans."

"Well, I certainly don't intend to sit here without taking action! I'll be sending an owl to Cornelius first thing after breakfast! See if I don't!"

* * *

The three residents of the Lords Hall had chosen to sit at the Gryffindor table that morning, accompanied by Hannah Abbott. Miss Abbott was, to absolutely no one's surprise, very firmly attached to Neville Longbottom's arm, so there was little comment about the pair.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Harry and Cedric.

"Oi, Potter! This isn't the poofs table, you know!" Down the table, Cormac McLaggen yelled down at Harry as he and Cedric were taking their seats. Around him, a snicker went up from what was obviously his circle of friends.

"Yeah, you and your _boyfriend_ need to go back to the Huffle_poof_ table," came another voice from farther down the table. The derision in the male voice was unmistakable, even if the bodies of other Gryffindors concealed his face.

Cedric paused, only to be pulled down by Harry, who gave no sign that he had heard anything. Neville, however, sent a searing glare down table to where McLaggen was sitting.

"Hannah and Cedric are both here at _my_ invitation, McLaggen," Neville said coldly. "I thought that it would be nice to repay their hospitality with some of our own. Pity that most of my housemates don't have the civility of the Hufflepuffs," he snorted. "I'm sorry, Cedric, Hannah…those fools obviously have bravery confused with boorishness."

McLaggen evidently hadn't had the chance to spend any time around Neville since the previous year, either that or he was just that stupid. "Better a bore than a shirt lifter or a whore…seems like that's all Hufflepoof's turning out these days!" he shot back, causing several of those around him to burst into raucous laughter.

Hannah felt the chill go through the air first, and tried to hold Neville's arm even more tightly. "Neville, it doesn't matter what that toe-rag thinks," she hissed. "Just let it go."

Across the table from Neville, Harry's eyes narrowed as he and Neville exchanged glances. Harry nodded imperceptibly, and casually let his hands drop below the table out of sight.

Neville gave Hannah a flinty smile, then gently shook off her hand. Standing, he stepped away from the table and turned to McLaggen. When he spoke, his voice was cold and flat.

"Cormac McLaggen, you will apologize to Miss Abbott and Mr. Diggory…and Lord Potter…immediately, or face the consequences."

McLaggen's eyes went wide, then he shook himself and grinned. "Oh, certainly," he said, turning to Hannah. "I'm sorry that you're dating a squib, dearie, but I'm sure that he pays you well. And, I'm sorry that a couple of faggots from Hufflepoof decided to infest our table today!" he finished with a sneer. He made a great show of having his wand in his hand as he spoke.

Neville drew himself up as a thrum of power began to swirl around the Great Hall. "You miserable little fleck of scum," he snarled at McLaggen. "I am Longbottom of Longbottom, THE Longbottom, and my family were Noble and wizard while yours were still painting their faces blue and fornicating with sheep! Before this castle was built, there were magical Longbottoms, and standing right beside them were their kith and kin, the Potters! You have insulted my friends and my allies, and I will not stand for it! Now, I demand satisfaction; either render an appropriate apology or I shall take my satisfaction on your body and your magic!"

McLaggen's expression was stunned. "Longbottom, are you challenging me to a duel?" he asked, unbelieving. Obviously, he was a bit behind the times…and didn't seem to notice the breeze that was ruffling Neville's hair and making his robes sway.

"Obviously," Neville grinned, showing teeth. It was not a pleasant grin, more like one that a shark would give to a surfer immediately before having his dinner.

"Well, then! Name the time and place," McLaggen said cheerfully. Oh, this was going to be fun, he thought, completely ignoring the heads around him that were beginning to shake back and forth.

"Outside, right now," Neville was still smiling. "And your second will be...?"

"I'll second him," Ron Weasley jumped up, surprising almost everyone. "I don't much like what he said, but I don't want 'puffs sitting at our table, either."

"Honestly, Ron, that's the most ludicrous thing I think I've ever heard you say," Hermione had been sitting there quietly (miracle of miracles), just observing, for once.

"Leave it, Hermione," Ron said harshly, cutting her off. "It's done." As he came around the table to stand beside McLaggen, Hermione folder her arms and began fuming. Down the table, the twins began whispering together, after a brief shake of Harry's head warned them to not interfere in their brother's foolishness. For good or ill, Ginny hadn't yet put in an appearance that morning, so Ron had no one other than Hermione who was willing to try to stop him.

"Neville, I'll be your second, if you'll have me," Cedric spoke up, one hand resting on Harry's arm in a restraining way.

If Cedric's offer surprised Neville, it never showed. Without batting an eye, he nodded to the Hufflepuff. "My thanks, Diggory. Lord Potter, if you would, please see that Miss Abbott is properly escorted during this little fracas."

Harry nodded solemnly, then smiled at a nervous Hannah Abbott. "Miss Abbott, would you be so kind as to accompany me while Lord Longbottom teaches this oaf some manners?" he asked lightly. For all the concern in his tone, they might have been going for tea and biscuits on the lawn.

Hannah smiled and nodded. "Certainly, Lord Potter. I'd be delighted."

* * *

At the high table, several of the Professors noticed the sudden surge of magic from the Gryffindor table. Snape was the first to react, his eyes flashing at the thought of being able to penalize Gryffindor so early in the morning.

"Well, well, well…it would appear that life is not copasetic in paradise after all," he drawled. "Minerva, I do believe that there is a commotion building among your Lions."

"I see it, Severus," McGonagall answered, her eyes narrowing as she took in the sight of Neville Longbottom standing there with very strong magic swirling around him. As odd as the sight was, in and of itself, even stranger was the fact that Harry Potter seemed content to let Longbottom handle the matter himself. Then, when she heard Neville's formal challenge issued, she moved to put an end to the nonsense once and for all.

"Minerva, I suggest that you keep your seat," a high-pitched voice stopped her. Turning, she saw Filius Flitwick sitting calmly, his eyes not leaving the scene before them. "If what I suspect has just occurred, then Mr. Longbottom is perfectly within his rights to call McLaggen out."

"Filius, you can't be serious! We can't allow this behavior to continue!" Minerva sputtered.

"Actually, Minerva, we have no choice in the matter. If Lord Longbottom chooses to demand satisfaction for an insult to his family or his allies, then we are obligated to allow him to do so," Filius said. "I was just reading about honor duels in my new copy of Hogwarts' _**Rules and Regulations**_ for House Heads," he smirked. "The precedence is clear, and goes back essentially to the time of the founders. Apparently the old families were even touchier about their honor in those days than they are now, and having students of 'lesser station' mixed among the elite of wizarding society necessitated some rather stringent measures. In point of fact…."

"As interesting as all of that may be, Filius, this isn't really the time," Headmaster Dumbledore interrupted. "We simply cannot allow our students to be challenging one another to duels over breakfast. Minerva, if you would…" he finished, inclining his head to where the youngest Weasley boy was now standing beside the McLaggen boy. Interesting, that…. "Oh, Minerva…I'll speak to both boys immediately after breakfast, in my office. The password is 'pralines'," he said, nodding his deputy away.

As McGonagall descended from the high table, a stern angel coming down from on high to smite the wicked, Flitwick sat up even higher in his chair. "Albus, regardless of your personal feelings or inclinations, we truly have no option in this matter but to let Lord Longbottom proceed with his challenge."

"Nonsense, Filius," the Headmaster brushed off the increasingly agitated Charms Professor. "I'm certain that, despite whatever you may have read, the need to protect our students from themselves takes precedence over any ancient regulations."

Shaking his head, Flitwick sat back. He consoled himself with the thought that he had made a serious effort to dissuade both Longbottom's Head of House as well as the Headmaster, so that his own conscience (and magic) was clear. Now, whatever the outcome, he was safe from any possible repercussions.

* * *

Neville was still waiting for McLaggen to rise to follow him when McGonagall arrived.

"Mr. Longbottom! What is the meaning of this?"

Neville turned to face the Professor and gave a minimal bow of acknowledgement. "Good morning, Professor," he said calmly. "I was just seeing to a matter of Family honor."

"You'll do no such thing! Ten points from Gryffindor, and you'll serve a detention with me this very evening for challenging another student to a duel!" McGonagall snapped.

Neville stood there calmly while most of the rest of the students around him either snickered or sucked in their breath in disbelief. Then, without any change in his facial expression or manner, he called out softly "Frilly!".

Instantly, Neville's house elf appeared in the Great Hall. "Frilly is being called?" he said, looking up at Neville.

"Yes, Frilly. Please fetch a copy of the _**Hogwarts Rules and Regulations appertaining to Lords and Heads of Houses **_from my quarters," he said evenly, briefly smiling down at the little elf before looking back at his Head of House. "Professor, I know you probably haven't had time to read the copy we gave you, so I'll be glad to show you exactly which regulations allow me to do what I've just done."

McGonagall looked decidedly uncomfortable, but pressed on. "Mr. Longbottom, I'm certain that you feel justified in your course of action, but the Headmaster sent me to…."

"The Headmaster is bound by the school rules and regulations, just as we all are," Neville said calmly. "Granted, by virtue of his position, he is granted a wide degree of latitude in interpreting most of those rules, but there are some—mostly those dealing with matters of the Great Families—in which the Headmaster has little or no authority to interfere." A slight pop announced the return of Frilly, and Neville put out his hand for his _**Rules**_ without looking away from his Professor. Feeling the book put in his hand, Neville raised it and began leafing through it quickly.

"Ah, here we are," he said, smiling as he offered the open book to the Deputy Headmistress. "As you'll see, Professor, the Wizengamot itself concurred with the Hogwarts Board of Governors in 1272, when both groups reaffirmed the right of the Heads of Noble Houses to respond to slurs against their Family honor—including references to their allies, cadets, dependents, and vassals—by demanding satisfaction in the form of honor duels. This right exists despite the status of such Head as a Hogwarts student; it was decided that the obligations inherent upon a Family Head transcend those reasonable and customary limitations which are normally placed upon a student. It is actually the same rationale that allows students who are also Heads to miss classes to attend to Family business, or to attend sessions of the Wizengamot." Neville smirked, taking a deep breath before continuing. "For all practical purposes, I am Longbottom of Longbottom first, and a Hogwarts student second."

McGonagall seemed to deflate a bit as she read the offered volume. Then, handing it back, she lowered her voice so that only Neville and those immediately around him could hear. "Very well, Mr. Longbottom, I see that you do indeed have the right. Still, the Headmaster will not allow this to proceed. Is there not some other course of action that will satisfy you? I'm prepared to take points and assign detentions…," she trailed off.

"McLaggen started this when he insulted Harry and Cedric, then called Hannah a whore," Neville hissed angrily. "Can you make him give an honest apology? Because if you can't," he warned, "I will."

McGonagall nodded, a bit shocked at the intensity of Neville's gaze. "Mr. McLaggen," she said, turning to where the miscreant in question stood, Ron Weasley at his shoulder. "Mr. Longbottom feels that an appropriate apology to Mr. Potter, Mr. Diggory, and especially Miss Abbott is owed by you; I certainly agree. You will apologize immediately," she said.

"Professor, I'm sorry I said what I did about Abbott, but I'm not going to apologize for what I said about Potter and Diggory. I don't think that you can force me to apologize for saying what I honestly believe about those two deviants; I certainly don't want them sitting at the Gryffindor table!" McLaggen spoke loudly enough that most of the Hall heard, and there was more than one 'hear, hear' that answered him.

McGonagall's lips pressed into a thin line as she realized just what an impossible situation Albus had put her in. The McLaggen boy was clearly one of those people who were intolerant of same-sex relationships, but it was his right under centuries of custom and tradition to have that belief, no matter how others might regard it. At the same time, she was obliged to treat all of her students equally, and allowing betrothed couples to sit together was something that she knew full well was allowed by the school rules. Also, it was an uncommon but accepted practice for people to sit with friends at tables other than their own, after being invited. Add in the fact that McLaggen had the poor judgment to insult the Head of one of Britain's oldest Families, and an equally prominent allied Head and his betrothed…this was not going to come to an easy end, no matter what she did. Well, that being the case, better hung for a sheep as a goat, she supposed.

"Very well. Mr. Longbottom, Mr. McLaggen, the Headmaster instructed me to

have both of you meet with him in his office immediately after breakfast. The password is 'pralines'," McGonagall said. "I assume that you will all be able to manage breakfast without further incident?"

Neville nodded, then threw a glance at Harry with a quick jerk of his head towards the doors. "Certainly, Professor," he said. "I believe that we'll be taking breakfast in our rooms, to avoid any other…unpleasantness. If that will be acceptable, of course?" he asked.

McGonagall recognized an out when she heard it, and despite her feelings that such special privileges should be kept to a minimum, in this case it was a gift from Merlin. "Certainly, Mr. Longbottom. I'm sure that the house elves can provide for all of you." She kept her face impassive while Neville, Hannah, Harry and Cedric left the Hall, then rounded on McLaggen just as the whispers turned into a full-blown murmur. "McLaggen, regardless of what the Headmaster says, I'll see you myself this afternoon in my office! I think that we need to have a talk about proper behavior towards your housemates and fellow students," she snapped, before whirling and returning to the high table.

Behind her, the murmuring continued, as the students discussed what had just happened, and the betting pool began on what was likely to happen.

* * *

Lady Augusta Longbottom sat in her morning room at Longbottom Hall taking her morning coffee. She had long preferred coffee to tea, especially in the morning, and it was yet another one of what her friends—those who were still above ground, which was fewer with each passing day—called her 'little quirks'.

What her enemies called them...well; quite frankly, what her enemies said about her was something about which she couldn't possibly manage to care less. And, after all, since she was planning to see what few of them remained properly cremated and then buried in several well-scattered locations (in some cases, after a good old-fashioned drawing and quartering, to be sure); well then, why waste all of that time and effort on worrying about what they thought about her?

Lady Longbottom looked up as a young house elf brought her the morning mail. Even more than usual, the mail would make a most welcome distraction. She had become rather accustomed over the summer to taking breakfast with her grandson, and she missed him terribly. Still, she would have endured Chinese water torture before she would let it show. Besides, he wasn't a little boy any more, but a fine young man, with powerful friends, and she was terribly proud of him—as she had said the day before, when she sent him off to Platform 9 3/4.

"Thank you, Fernie," the ancient witch said, nodding pleasantly to the little elf, who smiled and left as quietly as he had come. Lifting the first note from the silver tray, she opened it and began to read.

* * *

Augusta sat back, the _Daily Prophet_ lying on the table, half-read. Once again, her habit of reading all of her letters first, before moving on to the morning rags had stood her in good stead. Her brow creased in thought as she struggled to process all that she had just learned. Dumbledore had resigned as Chief Warlock three days previously, and it was good riddance to bad rubbish as far as Augusta Longbottom was concerned. The things she had discovered about her grandson over the summer just past had confirmed suspicions that had been growing about the Hogwarts Headmaster for some years. What was important at the moment was the effect that his resignation was having on the Wizengamot, and by extension the Ministry and her world, as well. Not unexpectedly, his surprise resignation—only days in advance of what every fool could see was going to be a massive attempt to unseat him—had thrown everyone's plans into the Thames. And now, Cornelius Fudge was going to call an emergency session of the Wizengamot—the Ministerial note had been impossible to miss in the morning's correspondence—to deal with the destruction of Hogsmeade! Well, she mused, at least that was the reasonable and intelligent thing to do. With a snort, she found herself wondering just who had put the Minister up to it. Still and all, it stood to reason that there would need to be another, more pressing issue resolved before the issue of Hogsmeade could be brought up….

While it had been some years since Augusta had personally attended a session of the Wizengamot, she managed to keep up quite well with the goings on in the wizarding governing body through a network of friends, clients and informants. Some of the letters she had just received were from members of that network, giving information and/or asking for her thoughts about just what would transpire in the immediate future. The question of the hour seemed to be just who would emerge from the melee as the new Chief Warlock…and then, what he or she would do about 'the Hogsmeade situation'?

The Dowager Lady Longbottom mulled the short list of possible Chief Warlock candidates over, and her lips pursed tightly together as she realized that none of the likely victors were at all suitable to lead the Wizengamot in the days to come. Even if some of them were fairly competent, by the time each faction finished savaging each other's candidates, whoever emerged would be so weakened as to be little more than a figurehead. No, that certainly wouldn't do...but who would want the thankless job in the first place?

Augusta snorted as she realized that, as is so often the case, the desire for high political office almost served as an automatic disqualification for said office. Sadly, she knew all too well that for a politician to seek an office virtually assured that the person who wanted it should not be allowed to hold it at any cost.

Well, then, that left finding someone who would fight like a demon _not_ to be seated as Chief Warlock, but that didn't bother Augusta in the least. After all, daughter of England that she was, press gangs were an old and respected part of her ethnic heritage and traditions!

Augusta Longbottom poured herself another cup of coffee and thought hard while she stirred in the sugar and dash of cream that she preferred. Who to suggest? The _how_ would be relatively simple...a word here, a suggestion there, a letter to a particularly prickly acquaintance that so-and-so should _never_ be put forward...Augusta had been sorted into Slytherin, which had caused more than a few eyebrows to be raised when she married into a family as famously Light as the Longbottoms. Well, she thought with a smile, her Horace hadn't let it bother him one bit. In fact, they had frequently laughed about it many times over the years.

_**Flashback**_

_ Horatio Longbottom handed the parchment to his wife, a puzzled look on his face. "Auggie, take a look at this, will you? Harfang wants me to support his father-in-law's position at the next Wizengamot session, but he's not very clear about what Arcturus is going to put forward."_

_ Augusta took the letter and scanned it briefly. "Harfang may have penned this, darling, but that's Callidora's style."_

_ Horatio nodded, his suspicions confirmed. "That was my first thought, as well. What else?"_

_ "It strikes me that he's saying more by what he's not saying than what's actually here," Augusta's brow creased thoughtfully. "He's asking you to support his father-in-law, not Arcturus by name." She tapped her bottom lip with the letter thoughtfully. "That implies that he's not terribly happy with whatever old man Black is pushing at the next session. The fact that Callidora's delicate little fingers are all over this letter also suggests that she's involved in pressuring Harfang, as well...although she usually takes his side against her father."_

_ "She's helping him 'comply', but hoping that we'll see through it, maybe?" the Lord Longbottom asked carefully. "I'd hate to think that she was siding with her father against my little brother."_

_ "Somehow, I rather doubt that," Augusta smiled. When Callidora Black set her sights on Harfang Longbottom, both families had initially tried to just ignore such an unlikely pairing in the hopes that it would just go away._

_ It hadn't._

_ When Harfang formally announced his intent to court Callidora, both families had been too shocked to do anything until the announcements had already gone out to all and sundry. A secret intra-family meeting, organized with all the care of an international summit, was held to put together a plan to block the courtship, which both sides vehemently opposed. After three days of intense planning and negotiation, the leadership of the two families emerged, plan in hand._

_ They were just in time to greet the happy couple, who had eloped._

_ Faced with a fiat accompli, the two families did the only thing they could...they threw the largest party they could arrange on short notice to introduce the wizarding world to 'those crazy kids'. The story that emerged was a masterwork of innuendo, half-truths and outright lies that painted the couple as a modern-day Romeo and Juliet who would unite the two families through their love._

_ What no one noticed at the time was that the two actually were madly in love with one another, and nothing had ever seemed to change that._

_ Circe knew enough people on both sides of the family had tried._

_ Smiling at the memory of just how thoroughly Callidora and Harfang had managed to befuddle and confound the seniors of both families, Augusta missed what her husband was saying to her._

_ "I'm sorry, love, I was off woolgathering...what did you say?"_

_ Horatio Longbottom smiled indulgently at his wife, and repeated. "I was agreeing with you that it is rather doubtful that Cally would side with her father against Harry. But, given this letter, I think I need Slytherin assistance to determine just how I'm going to respond to it."_

_ Augusta looked at her husband carefully, feeling a faint blush begin to creep up her cheeks. "And just where were you hoping to find a Slytherin to help out your poor, helpless Hufflepuff self?"_

_ Shrugging, Horatio pretended to be thinking furiously. "Well, there's always Abraxas Malfoy, or maybe Percival Parkinson..." he said, then looked at his wife slyly. "Or, I could take the morning off and look in my bedroom. Who knows just what kind of wily snake I might find there?" As he spoke, he stood and stepped around the small table, his hand extended to his Lady wife._

_ Augusta merely nodded. "I suppose that would depend on just what kind of snake _**I**_ might find there," she said, taking her husband's hand and rising._

_ "Oh, a very talented one," he said, leading her towards the stairs. "One who has read and mastered each and every page of Helga's Secret Love Manual."_

_ "Oh, that old thing?" Augusta laughed. "Well, if that talented snake could refresh my memory of page twenty six, then I think that I might be persuaded to help you with that other little matter of your brother's family."_

_ "Page twenty six? Well, I suppose," Horatio laughed easily. "I was actually thinking more along the lines of pages forty two and thirty five, but since twenty six actually works well with them I don't see why not."_

_ Augusta smiled and nodded. "There's just one thing, love," she asked, caressing the curve of his ear as they stopped outside the door to their suite. "Do you 'puffs really memorize the pages in this mythical book of yours, or do you just spout off a series of random page numbers before you proceed to ravish your conquests senseless?"_

_ A deep rumbling laugh came from Horatio's chest as he swept his wife into his arms, carried her across the room and tossed her in a willing heap on their bed._

_ "Alas, my dear, we all swear a mighty oath not to reveal any more of the Lady Helga's secrets than I've already shared with you." He pulled at his robes, grinning down at Augusta. "And besides...if I told you, it wouldn't be half so much fun, now would it?"_

Augusta smiled, remembering. Then, an inspiration came to her in a flash! She knew the perfect candidate—powerful, well known, rich (so much so that bribery would never be an issue), humble, and above all a man who would fight tooth and nail to keep the Wizengamot from electing him by acclaim!

Grinning, the Lady Longbottom picked up a quill and began to compose a letter that she could duplicate, fill in the name and then send out to a number of people. No need to waste effort writing out a dozen of the silly things, after all.

_Dear _,_

_ It occurs to me that we have the perfect candidate immediately available to us, and I'm sure that you'll agree as soon as I mention his name._

_ Who better to follow Albus Dumbledore as Chief Warlock than Harry Potter?_

_ I realize the boy's a bit young, but who has done more at his age than he has? Yes, Fudge has done his level best to smear Potter in the press these last months, but does anyone with half a brain believe that? Personally, my feeling is that having Fudge against him is a definite plus! Also, he's betrothed to that nice young Diggory lad, who's from a sound family. He obviously knows of the old traditions, and seems determined to honor them fully._

_ I'm just suggesting this, of course...but pass it around, and let me know what people think, won't you?_

_ Yours,_

_ Augusta_

The Lady Longbottom sat back, surveyed her handiwork and grinned. There! That ought to set the kneezle among the pixies, sure enough! Point out the obvious, and let the recipient read between the lines: Potter and Diggory both Triwizard Champions, Diggory's blood as pure as they came, and that two young men didn't get betrothed unless they intended to get themselves in a family way, and that probably as soon as practical. All good points, and it wouldn't be the first time that an invert held the Minister's office. At least Potter would be up front about it, unlike some that Augusta could name.

Still and all, Augusta wasn't fool enough to think that Harry Potter would be elected as the next Chief Warlock. Today's _Prophet_ had seen to that, with the headline they had run. No, it would be several years before he could be forced into that particular chair, and she didn't really expect to be around to see it. Neville would, of course, and she strongly suspected that he would be one of Potter's strongest supporters in the Wizengamot when it did happen, and that was quite good enough for her. In the meantime, putting out Potter's name would stir the pot just a bit, and hopefully get people thinking of some of the less obvious choices for the position.

Augusta was just starting to compile a list of some of those less obvious choices when a pair of house elves—Fernie and one she didn't recognize—came into the morning room. Mildly surprised, she looked up, and only had time to notice that one of the elves was wearing a towel with the Hogwarts insignia before Fernie was speaking to her.

"Mistress, Frilly is coming from Hogwarts with a letter from the young Master."

Augusta's eyebrows rose as she took the offered letter while the Hogwarts elf squeaked. "Master Lord Neville sir is asking Frilly to be bringing this to his Gran soonest, and is wanting me to be waiting for an answer. I is to be saying it is most important."

Augusta nodded, eyes already on the terse note. Finishing quickly, she looked up, eyes blazing.

"Frilly? That's you?" she demanded, then gave a tight-lipped smile. "Tell my grandson that I will be there directly." She nodded in approval as the elf popped out at her statement. "Fernie, lay out one of my better robes. I'll be changing, then going to Hogwarts immediately."

Fernie looked concerned. "Is the young Master being well?"

Augusta paused, both pleased and a bit surprised at the degree of the house elf's concern. "Yes, yes, I think he is," she said, a warm feeling growing inside of her chest at what her grandson had written. "Although, it remains to be seen about certain others there at that school," she chuckled darkly, rising to follow the house elf into her bedroom.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore settled himself into his chair shortly before nine o'clock. He had returned to his office almost immediately after sending his Deputy to deal with the probable duel between Neville Longbottom and Cormac McLaggen. He'd made his hasty exit to avoid having to personally intervene in the Great Hall when the situation exploded in Minerva's face. He suspected that neither boy would be willing to back down, and with one of them being a Family Head it was almost certain to be messy and difficult. So, why bother even being near such a public situation, and risk having to take sides or publically tarnish his grandfatherly image? Better by far to let McGonagall play the heavy in public, and let him resolve the situation later, in the privacy of his office.

Now, three sweet rolls, two donuts and two cups of tea later (it really was good to be the Headmaster of a school with hot- and cold-running house elves), he felt fortified for the day to come and ready to slap down the impudent brats that had disrupted his usual breakfast.

He was just reaching to pour himself a third cup of tea when the fireplace in his office burst into flames. Immediately the flames took on the green hue of an incoming floo call, causing Dumbledore to pause and straighten himself in preparation for an early morning conversation.

To the Headmaster's surprise, Lucius Malfoy stepped through the flames, as usual his robes impeccable and his family smirk firmly in place.

"Good morning, Lucius," Dumbledore said, beating the other man to the initial greeting by a fraction of a second. "To what do I owe the pleasure this fine morning?" Outwardly, Dumbledore was his usual kind, benevolent, slightly batty self; inwardly, he was furiously wondering just why this particular member of the Board of Governors was standing in his office at this particular time.

"Good morrow, Headmaster," Lucius replied. Stepping into the room, he tossed back his traveling cloak and began to remove his gloves with the air of a man who has come with the intention of staying for some time. "I found myself with an unexpectedly open morning on my schedule, so I thought what better use of my time than to drop by the school and see if I can be of any assistance to you?" Lucius smiled, then a concerned look dropped onto his face. "I would be greatly surprised if Hogwarts' resources were not already strained to the limit, what with the humanitarian burden the poor, unfortunate displaced of Hogsmeade have placed on them. Of course, I support you fully in this, as I'm certain the rest of the Board will do, but at the same time we must take steps to see that the school's interests are protected."

Dumbledore nodded, waving Lucius to a chair. He had been expecting such a visit, and even though Lucius' arrival could have come at a better time, it would only take a moment to deal with him and then send him on his way.

"You're certainly correct in thinking that our resources are stretched a bit, Lucius, but you'll be happy to hear that I've already persuaded the Minister to release sufficient emergency funds and supplies to us to carry us through the next few days. After that, I anticipate that the Hogsmeade residents will be transferred out of the castle to a more appropriate location. Of course, the Governors will have to understand that certain additional expenses will need to be covered, but I'm hopeful that a general appeal to the alumni will be sufficient to meet our needs." Albus smiled at his guest, and Lucius had the distinct feeling that his purse was being sized up for a galleon extraction. It was no more or less than he had expected, of course.

"Well, I'm happy that Cornelius is releasing both funds and supplies, although I suppose that we'll be hearing from him about replacing them before too long," Lucius answered smoothly. "And, I'm certain that the alumni will, as always, answer the call to aid Hogwarts in her hour of need. After all, who would have thought that the castle would have to do double duty as both a school and a refugee center? Speaking of which, just how are you managing the classroom side of the situation?" he asked. "I must admit to some concern about having a school full of students suddenly overrun with displaced adults. Hogsmeade weekends are one thing, but living together in such close quarters…" he trailed off, shaking his head.

Albus' smile covered up a mental snort. If Lucius didn't know that Albus was aware that almost every Slytherin had owled home in the past two days, the Headmaster certainly wasn't going to disabuse him of that notion. "For now, the students are being restricted to their houses, with the faculty providing reading assignments as appropriate. I also understand that most of the staff—most notably Minerva and Severus—have also given essay assignments. The Ravenclaws, naturally, have already started formal revision sessions for those students facing the OWLS and NEWTS this year, and I believe that the other years are being led in reviews of their previous year's material by the Raven prefects. The situation is far from perfect, I know, but it serves to keep any confusion or comingling to an absolute minimum."

"I would expect no less from Rowena's house," Lucius nodded. "And, I'm glad that you've taken steps to prevent any inappropriate contact between the townspeople and the students. Given what the people of Hogsmeade have been through, I agree with preventing as many potential contacts as possible. The last thing we need to be dealing with is a scandal of any kind. Still, I'm concerned about the loss of formal classroom time."

Dumbledore waved away the concern. "As long as we can resume classes within the next few days, I'm not terribly concerned. If you'll remember, the first few days of every year are not terribly productive, and most of the settling in can be done as well inside the houses as out roaming the halls. No, I think we'll only have a problem if the Ministry is unable to follow through on their promise to have alternate housing available for the refugees by the end of the week."

Lucius nodded, wrapping his Occulumency shields around his thoughts as he pointedly looked around the office—anywhere but Dumbledore's eyes. He didn't think the old man could read his mind without eye contact, but one could never really be quite sure with a wizard as powerful as Dumbledore…or Voldemort. Certainly the Dark Lord would be interested in that particular tidbit of information about the refugees, but Malfoy doubted that it would be kept out of the _Prophet_. So, there was no real reason to think he might be caught out by passing the Ministry's plans along a day or so before they were reported. He'd have to pump Fudge for any more details, of course, but being able to tell the Dark Lord about such a tempting target for a raid would gain him a bit of favor.

If a small part of him was disgusted with himself about currying favor with a Lord who seemed to be a bit more insane with each passing day, he ignored it.

"Well, then, it seems that the most helpful thing I can do…besides send a sackful of galleons, of course…is to speak with the Minister about keeping his promise." Lucius smiled slightly at his own little joke, and noted that the Headmaster twinkled back at him in that thoroughly annoying way he had.

"Certainly the galleons would be appreciated, Lucius, but anything you can do to help the Minister stay on schedule would be a significant help to us all," Dumbledore smiled. At least this time, having Lucius twisting Fudge's arm and whispering words in his ear would be to Albus' benefit. Still, Albus had other things to attend to this morning. "Now, is there anything else I can do to reassure you that…."

The Headmaster was interrupted by the fireplace bursting into flames once again, followed almost immediately by the emergence of Augusta Longbottom. The elderly witch stamped out of the fire like a dyspeptic rhinoceros, and was berating Dumbledore even before she was completely free of the fire.

"Albus Dumbledore, what's this nonsense I hear about you forbidding my grandson from upholding his Family's honor? Just what in the name of Merlin's wrinkled…oh, hello, Lucius," she said, catching herself as she noticed that she and the Headmaster were not alone in the office.

"Madam Longbottom, how nice to see you," Lucius had popped out of his chair as soon as he had seen who had just come charging into the Headmaster's office, and his bow was perhaps a touch deeper than he was prone to give. While not as wealthy as the Malfoys, the Longbottoms were a much older Family in England, and Augusta wielded a significant amount of influence and power from behind the scenes in the Wizengamot. While they seldom agreed, Lucius usually tried to not blatantly be on the old dragon's bad side.

"Well, I'm glad that you're here, actually, Lucius," Augusta rallied quickly. "It's convenient that there's a member of the Board here to help me straighten this mess out."

"Now, Augusta, I'm sure that there's no cause for any concern," Dumbledore tried to take control of the conversation and soothe the irate matron at the same time. "I take it that young Neville sent you an owl this morning about the events in the Great Hall?"

"Something like that," Augusta harrumphed, helping herself to a seat.

"I'm sorry, but is this really something I need to be present for?" Lucius asked. He was only being polite, of course; wild thestrals couldn't have dragged him out of that office just then.

"Not really," Dumbledore replied, at the same time as Augusta Longbottom's "absolutely." Looking back and forth between the two, Lucius sat back down and turned slightly towards the elderly Lady.

Dumbledore noticed Lucius' posture, and how he was subtly supporting Augusta against the Headmaster. Before he could do anything about the situation, however, there was a rap at the door to his office.

Before he could say anything, Minerva McGonagall swept into the office, Neville Longbottom and Cormac McLaggen trailing along after her. And, to Dumbledore's surprise, Filius Flitwick brought up the rear of the little procession. Not wanting any more witnesses than necessary, Dumbledore immediately moved to thin the herd a bit.

"Minerva, thank you for bringing these two students; I'll handle it from here. Lucius, if you would excuse me, I have a meeting with these two students right now. Augusta, perhaps you and Minerva would like to take a late breakfast in her office. I'm sure that Mr. Longbottom can join you there shortly. And Filius, I'll be glad to see you, just as soon as I'm done with Mr. Longbottom and Mr. McLaggen." Dumbledore's eyes were in full-twinkle mode, and he pushed as much of his power into his words as he dared, given his audience.

He might as well have been spitting into a North Sea gale. McGonagall was the first to speak, beating Augusta Longbottom by the barest margin.

"Albus, I'll be staying, if it's all right with you," she said, her brogue thick as a London fog. Her tone made it perfectly clear that it had _better_ be all right with him. "Both of these boys are members of my House, so it's my duty to be here."

"Dumbledore, if you think that I'm going to come all this way just to stroll out the door, you've got another think coming," Augusta snapped. "Lucius, you stay, too," she said, cutting the Governor off as well before he could say a word. "As I said, it's convenient that there's a member of the Board of Governors here for this; you can tell the rest of the Board just what's been going on under their noses."

Lucius was too smart to say anything at this point; he contented himself with giving the dowager Lady Longbottom an easy smile and settling himself back in his chair. At the rate things were going, it promised to be an outstanding show!

Sighing, Dumbledore gave a miniscule shake of his head before turning to the shortest person in the room. "And you, Filius?" he asked, already suspecting what he was going to hear.

"Since there may very well be a formal duel at some time in the very near future, I thought that I'd offer myself as judge," the diminutive man said easily. "And, after the immediate matter is settled, I thought that you and I could discuss forming a dueling club. I've had several requests, you see, and it's likely that today's events will generate quite a lot of interest in the dueling arts, so…."

"Yes, yes, I think the idea has merit, but let's not be too hasty," Dumbledore dismissed the small man as he turned back to the others. "It would be a terrible mistake to allow a simple misunderstanding to get out of hand to the point where it requires a duel to settle the matter. Now, Mr. Longbottom…."

"Headmaster, aren't you going to ask us what transpired this morning?" Neville interrupted the Headmaster, to the surprise of almost everyone in the room. "Or have you already decided what the outcome of this meeting is going to be, without actually learning what the situation actually is about?"

To Albus' surprise, neither of his faculty moved to defend him from young Longbottom's accusation. Instead they, along with everyone, merely turned to him expectantly.

"Well, of course, it's important that I be made aware of the details of your conversation with Mr. McLaggen this morning, Mr. Longbottom, but I'm certain that there was nothing said that would be serious enough to merit a challenge to meet on the dueling strip."

"And just how can you be certain of that, sir?" Neville was relentless as he pressed the older wizard. "Do you claim to have full knowledge of what transpired in the Great Hall already? Even before Cormac and I have had a chance to give you our version of events?"

"No, of course not," Albus shook his head, his twinkle noticeably dimmed. "Still, a challenge to a duel is a serious matter, and I find it hard to believe that…."

"It seems to me, Headmaster, that until you hear the boys out, you don't know what to believe, and what to discount," Augusta cut in smoothly. "Neville, why don't you tell _me_ what happened this morning." The subtle emphasis she gave when referring to herself, clearly overriding Dumbledore's wishes, made Lucius have to suppress a smile.

Neville's account was dry, succinct, and accurate; Cormac's no less so. Each young man related what he had said and done, and the two corroborated each other. McLaggen was adamant that he hadn't said anything that wasn't already a common rumor (about Hannah Abbott) or self-admitted fact (Harry and Cedric's relationship); that Neville was practically a squib was "something that everybody in the school knows". When pressed by McGonagall, he did admit that he might perhaps have gone too far with his words against Hannah Abbott, but then calmly stated that he would be willing to apologize to her publically. Then, with a smirk, he pointed out that no formal arrangement existed between Neville and Hannah, so Neville's basis for challenging him was weak, at best.

"So, you don't see why a young man should move to defend a young lady's honor?" McGonagall asked, shocked that one of her Gryffindors would be so blatantly callous.

McLaggen shrugged, unconcerned. "Defend? Possibly. By challenging me to a duel? Hardly." His expression showed clearly just how little he thought of the idea. "Oh, don't get the idea that I'm afraid to meet the challenge," he went on, glancing at Neville. "I'll duel Longbottom…or Potter, or Diggory, or Abbott, for that matter, any day of the week. In fact, I think I'm rather glad to be challenged, if it means that Longbottom and his _friends_ have to stay clear of the Gryffindor table," he finished, a look of smug self-satisfaction on his face.

Albus leaned back, a tiny frown on his face, all sign of his eye twinkle extinguished. The arrogant young buck had just condemned himself with his own words, and there was no way that Albus Dumbledore could possibly prevent the duel now without serious adverse consequences to himself, as Headmaster. Certainly, Dumbledore wasn't going to risk those consequences to try to save the pride of an ignorant berk like young McLaggen. No, the best that the Headmaster could do at this point was try to minimize any further damage to himself and to his absolute control of his school. So, with that thought upmost in his mind, he schooled his face into a look that mixed equal parts resignation and sadness, and then looked around the room.

"Well, Mr. McLaggen, I certainly can't find anything lacking in your confidence in yourself," he said. "Still, I do wish that I could find some way to convince you that your attitude towards Mr. Longbottom and his friends is not what we would expect from a Gryffindor…or any other student here at Hogwarts. I do not believe that a duel can do anything except promote continuing harsh feelings between you and Mr. Longbottom, regardless of outcome."

"Your pardon, Headmaster," Lucius interrupted quietly. "Regardless of the feelings of the two boys, Mr. Longbottom has brought up a very important matter. By declaring that his Family honor is involved—as is his right, as Head of his House—this has become more than an argument over childish taunts and insults. If it were nothing more than that, the matter could be handled by Deputy Headmistress McGonagall in the usual way. However, as it has become a matter of Family honor, I see no alternative to allowing the duel to proceed."

"Surely there must be some other way," Dumbledore insisted, knowing that he should put up at least a token resistance to the idea, for appearances sake.

"Actually, Albus, not according to the _**Hogwarts Rules and Regulations appertaining to Lords and Heads of Houses**_," Flitwick put in. "As I was trying to tell you in the Great Hall, once a Head of House has issued a challenge based on an insult to his Family honor, we are specifically prohibited from interfering with the conduct of the duel.

"That is my reading of the Rules as well, Albus," Augusta joined in. "Of course, I've only had a brief time this morning to peruse a borrowed copy," her eyes narrowed as she looked directly at the Headmaster. "Still, I intend to make a careful study of the book before I return it. I can't help wondering just where Neville managed to get a copy; especially since I looked so hard for one all summer long…and you told me that even the library copy here couldn't be found."

"Harry and I made several copies of an original that he had," Neville supplied helpfully, carefully keeping his face neutral. "I understand that he plans to have a small press run made, and will probably be gifting them this Christmas, Gran. I can hint to him that you'd like a copy, if you'd like," he finished, giving a wink to his Gran that Dumbledore couldn't see.

"Yes, well," Dumbledore said, a touch of his exasperation showing. "I suspect that Mr. Potter was able to find a copy in the Black library over the summer, which is not a resource to which I have ready access. I apologize for not thinking to have you contact Sirius to see if his library could provide a copy, Augusta," he said, while inwardly he fumed. He had made certain that no copies of that damned book would be available at Hogwarts for Potter, and now Longbottom, to be able to get their hands on; now the blasted things would be everywhere!

"Actually, Lord Potter's copy is one that I made from the original in the Malfoy library. I must say, however, that I think having a fresh run made up is a capital idea. Obviously, the library here will need several copies, as they seem to tend to disappear. I will probably purchase a new copy as well, just to have a duplicate in my own library. Such a valuable work doesn't need to be unavailable, don't you agree, Dumbledore?" Lucius smiled, enjoying the brief flash of anger that his announcement caused in the Headmaster's eyes, before it was quickly hidden. "And, had I known you were so interested in having a copy, I certainly would have been glad to provide you with one, Madam Longbottom," he smiled, enjoying her sniff of doubt.

"So, then…there really is no choice in the matter?" McGonagall's voice was mostly resigned, but also a bit pained.

"No, Minerva, I'm afraid not," Albus sighed, outwardly sad but inwardly seething. Malfoy, eh? Aiding Potter? Something was definitely afoot there, and he needed to know about it as soon as possible, so that he could begin to turn it to his advantage. Perhaps he could begin dropping hints that Potter was turning towards the Dark, in case he needed to be removed as the 'next' Dark Lord…but that was a matter for another time. "Unless, of course, both parties could come to some other agreement?" he said, holding out the last hope of a peaceful resolution, as would be expected of the 'kindly Headmaster' he worked so hard to portray.

As Dumbledore anticipated, both young men shook their heads. "Very well, then," he said. "Filius, you said that you would serve as officiate? Very well, then, we have only to set a time, and then allow these young men to proceed."

Flitwick spoke up then, catching everyone's attention. "I think that after lunch would be the best time, don't you think, Albus? I have no doubt that everyone will want to observe a formal duel, and the Great Hall will be one of the easiest places to set up a dueling strip, along with the appropriate wards and viewing stands."

Albus nodded, having expected something like that to be offered. Indeed, it was probably the optimal solution to the entire mess. Let McLaggen wipe the floor with Longbottom and then use the pure-blooded members of the Board's fears of a repeat of the incident to have that particular ancient rule expunged from the school's code. Yes, in this case, Longbottom's virtual squib status—enforced by the block that Albus had placed on the boy's core years ago—could work towards Albus' goals.

"I leave the entire matter in your capable hands, Filius," he said. "Now, if you will all excuse me, I have other matters to attend to. Lucius, Augusta, you are both welcome to stay, if you wish. Minerva, if you will see to our guests…" he finished, rising in a clear dismissal.

A brief round of pleasantries later, Albus found himself finally alone in his office. Ordering another plate of pastries and a fresh pot of tea from a house elf, he sat back, thinking furiously. There were forces at work here that he didn't control, and naturally, that situation could not be allowed to endure. The only question was just how to go about regaining the upper hand over his pawns and the other hoi poi….

* * *

Harry and Cedric had just finished their breakfasts, and were each busy on their own projects—Cedric on his computer, Harry flipping through a book on household defensive charms—when a house elf popped into Cedric's sitting room.

"Professor Sprout is being here to see Master Diggory", the little creature piped up. "Shall Mobby be letting her in?"

Cedric looked at Harry, who shrugged. Closing his laptop, he nodded to the elf. "Please, Mobby, show the Professor in."

A few moments later, a gentle knock came on the door to Cedric's suite.

"Professor," Cedric said, opening the door to see his Head of House standing there. "Won't you come in?"

"Thank you, Cedric," Pomona Sprout said, sweeping into the room. "Hello, Mr. Potter."

"Professor," Harry smiled back. If Sprout was surprised or bothered to find Harry in Cedric's room, a large tome open in front of him, it never showed in her manner.

"Mr. Potter, I hate to ask, but could you step outside for a few minutes?" Sprout smiled at the Gryffindor, her voice kind and gentle. "Normally I wouldn't even ask, but there are some things that I need to discuss with Cedric as Head of Hufflepuff House."

"Ooooh, Badger secrets not meant for my delicate Gryffindor ears," Harry laughed, rising. "Certainly, Professor. Ced, I'll be next door," he said, taking his book and heading straight for the connecting door between his and his betrothed's rooms.

"_Not_ listening at the door, prat," Cedric called, making Harry laugh and slam the door extra hard behind him. "One moment, Professor," he said, and raised his wand.

Pomona saw the locking and silencing spells go up with an ease that many older wizards would have envied, then another spell on top of them that she didn't recognize.

"Two privacy spells and a locking spell?" she asked carefully.

Cedric just shrugged. "The little git can lift a privacy spell without batting an eye, same thing with locking spells. The third spell is an alarm spell keyed to his magic, so we'll know if he tries."

Sprout didn't say anything, but her raised eyebrows gave away her surprise. Being able to key a spell to someone's individual magical signature was very advanced magic, indeed. It was not uncommon in married couples, for example…after a decade or two together. For Cedric to be that familiar with young Harry's signature….

"We haven't consummated our relationship, if that's what you're thinking, Professor," Cedric said dryly. "Over the summer, Harry and I spent a lot of time together, in close contact. We were chaperoned almost all of the time," he made sure to point out, "but for most of the summer Harry was on growth-accelerating potions. They caused some significant pain as his bones and muscles grew, and regular massages helped ease his discomfort. I was the one who gave most of those massages, and it gave me lots of time to familiarize myself with Harry's body and magical signature." He shrugged, completely unconcerned about what his Head of House might think about his relationship with his betrothed.

Pomona nodded, smiling gently. "I wasn't trying to imply anything improper, Cedric," she began. "No, you two are betrothed; in the old days it would be almost expected of you to have already consummated the relationship. At any rate, I followed the papers this summer, and I know that Lord Potter is legally of age. Besides, it's none of my damned business!"

Cedric smiled weakly at the unexpected support. "He's still too young, I think, but just try telling the prat that. But, I think you, Professor, for not judging us."

"And just what kind of Hufflepuff would I be if I did that?" Sprout mock-huffed. "Seriously, I wanted to commend you on how you've carried yourself these last few months. From tying for the win with Mr. Potter in the Triwizard Tournament to the exceptional knowledge and respect for our oldest traditions you've shown, to your unwavering support for Mr. Longbottom this morning in the Great Hall, you've done nothing but make me proud to be a Hufflepuff. No, let me finish," she said, cutting Cedric off before he could speak. "Sometimes it's not easy, as you well know. Of all of the Houses, our's is the one with the reputation for taking the duffers that no one else will take. To some extent, that reputation is deserved, because Helga Hufflepuff would teach magic to anyone who expressed an interest and would put forth the effort to learn it. That has been, and will continue to be, her legacy to us, who are sorted into her House. What some perceive as weakness, we know is actually our greatest strength. Let the Slytherins plot and plan, the Ravenclaws study and obsess over details, and the Gryffindors go haring off at the first whiff of excitement; when all else is said and done, it's the Hufflepuffs who packed the lunch baskets and remember to bring the tickets." She stopped, and her smile became a wide grin. "It's also the Hufflepuff who will have a bandage in their pocket for the odd scrape, an extra hanky at need, and a Pepper-Up Potion tucked away in case someone catches a chill. For all that they talk down to and about us, Cedric, the other Houses _need_ us, and they know it. Oh, they'll die the death of a thousand cuts before they'd admit it," the rotund little Professor waved a hand airily, "but when you press them, even the Slytherins and Gryffindors will admit they feel much more comfortable with Hufflepuff at their backs."

Cedric returned the Professor's grin. "I've seen that kind of thing at the Ministry, Professor," he said. "Most of the positions that actually require something be done are filled by Badgers."

Sprout nodded. "Just so. Over half of the Ministry's work force is Hufflepuff, and that number is higher when you discount political flunkies, nieces and nephews of VIPs, and purely ceremonial jobs. No, it's the Badgers that make the country run, without a doubt." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "And that's why it's so important that I have this little conversation with you today," she went on.

"Professor?" Cedric asked, clearly caught off guard.

"Cedric, you and I…and Minerva, and Filius, and Severus (when he'll admit it) and others on the faculty here know that your betrothed is something very special, indeed. Even if our only clues were the way Albus treats him, for both good and ill, we'd know this. As it is, we suspect that the rumors and innuendos that have swirled around him the last four-odd years barely scratch the surface of what he's been through. He's bright—and it saddens me to say this, but he's brightest when he's away from Miss Granger—but does only average work in his classes when he should be excelling. He's got power to spare, but doesn't really show it in his classroom performance. The youngest Weasley boy is irritating enough to make people go the other way when he's around Mr. Potter, and whenever possible he's grafted himself to young Mr. Potter like a particularly thorny limb."

"I know about the 'Golden Trio'," Cedric said, a hint of snarl in his voice. "I intend to see that Harry 'gets out' more this year," he growled.

"Good. I'd hoped that you'd seen it, and like every good Hufflepuff, you've already started planning to correct the situation."

"I've also started to think about who he's going to need the most protection from, and who the best people are to train him," Cedric said. "I hate that's the way it has to be, but there's nothing I can do about it."

"Not directly, no," Sprout agreed. "But, there are always other ways. For example, I can tell a terrific difference between the Harry Potter of today and the little waif we put on the train last spring. It's not just his physical growth—which, I'm glad to see finally being addressed properly with the potions you described," she said, a hint of irritation in her voice. Cedric didn't pursue it, but he did file her reaction away for later consideration.

The Herbologist was continuing. "No, it's not just the physical changes, which are remarkable, but also the change in his confidence and bearing since last spring. He's much more confident and assertive, and I attribute this to you, Mr. Diggory, and you're to be commended for it."

"I didn't do it for anyone's approval," Cedric muttered, which made Pomona laugh like a girl.

"Of course you don't, Hufflepuff! It's just not in your nature. And, to the world, it doesn't matter _why_, but _what_ you've done already. The Boy-Who-Lived must ultimately grow into the Man, and Harry's made great strides in doing that over the summer. Now, neither of us can say just what silly title that will be stuck on Harry, but I'd bet my last galleon that he'll be the Man Who Did Something Remarkable!"

"That's the last thing he wants, you know," Cedric said hotly. "Harry hates his fame, and all the bother that goes with it."

"All the more reason that the rest of us need for him to carry it, rather than someone like Albus Dumbledore or Lucius Malfoy," Sprout said firmly. "Still, it has to have been a heavy burden, and will only get worse, I'm afraid. Especially now that He Who Must Not Be Named has returned."

"You think we'll have another war?" Cedric asked carefully, strengthening his Occulumency shields reflexively as the topic drifted towards things that he 'knew' but wasn't supposed to know.

"I think that past behavior predicts future behavior rather nicely," Sprout said, choosing her words with care. "The Dark Lord wanted to control the Ministry, and through it, the country; I really can't see any reason why his motivations and goals would have changed. Can you?" she asked.

Cedric shook his head, looking away. He didn't feel any Legilimency brushing against his shields, but caution never hurt.

"I didn't think so," Pomona continued, as a suspicion she had deeply held was confirmed. The young man across from her was not the only one who had been markedly changed since the third task, and some of the things that her network of Hufflepuff contacts had been reporting to her hinted at…well, few things with magic were flatly impossible, but some were less probable than others. It almost seemed that young Diggory had started out the summer with a long list of Things That Must Be Done, some of which would have required either a gifted student of Divination (which Cedric certainly wasn't) or foreknowledge of future events. He had done a number of seemingly odd things, then vanished for weeks with his 'friend' on an around-the-world jaunt, then come back and proceeded to be part of setting the Wizarding world on it's collective ear. Now, he and his betrothed were pressing on full-speed to do the same to stodgy old Hogwarts, and Pomona found herself torn between anxiety over the effect those changes would have on her charges and glee that somebody was finally doing it.

"No, Cedric, I don't see any way that another round of war can be avoided, and I'm not sure that I'd want that, even if we could. The only way to avoid a war with the Dark Lord would be to give in to his demands, and that would be catastrophic for anyone not a Pure Blood."

"Agreed, Professor. And, you heard the Prophesy; Harry has to be the one to face Voldemort, and it will be 'him or me' for both of them."

"Exactly, Cedric. That's why I came to you this morning, rather than waiting for you and your friends to come to me as we had discussed. There are things about our House that you would normally learn just before you leave Hogwarts as a seventh year, but circumstances dictate that I not wait that long to bring you fully into the loop."

"Professor?" Cedric asked, not sure he was understanding what he was hearing.

"Cedric, one doesn't stop being a Hufflepuff when one leaves Hogwarts," Pomona Sprout began. Centuries of experience had shown that the best way to reveal to ongoing secrets of the House of the Badger was the direct approach. "The discrimination against our House isn't as blatant in the 'real world' as it is here, but it's there nonetheless. Not surprisingly, we've reacted to that over the centuries, well, as Hufflepuffs," she smiled. "Once a 'puff, always a 'puff' isn't just a catch phrase the other Houses sneer at us; it's who and what we are. You'll find that the Hufflepuff grapevine is probably the most well-informed, well-connected information network in the country. Our ears and eyes are literally everywhere, and since we're 'just Hufflepuffs'", her grin turned just a bit savage, "people say things around and to us that they'd never say around, say, once of those plotting Slytherins."

"Because we're obviously not smart enough to plot," Cedric matched her smile with a toothy grin of her own.

"Exactly!" Pomona nodded, her eyes alight. "Typically, the current Head of Hufflepuff here at Hogwarts is one of the people responsible for coordinating any efforts that need doing, but there are others."

"At the Ministry?" Cedric asked.

Sprout nodded. "And other places of influence, as well. We've had an informal, but mutually beneficial, arrangement with the goblins since before the last rebellion; it was a group of Hufflepuffs that negotiated that peace treaty."

"So, you're telling me that Hufflepuffs actually run the country?" Cedric asked, only half-joking.

His Head of House threw back her head and laughed out loud. "Oh, I wish! Oh, Cedric, who would want that job? Certainly not I! No, we mostly just watch, and listen, and try to keep the wheels on and the cart on the path as best we can. We nudge here, tug there, drop hints and suggestions into the right ears at the right time. Sometimes, we fail," she said, sobering. "The last war was one such failure. By the time the Death Eaters had formed, the Dark Lord was already so powerful, and had so much momentum, that all we could do was rally support against him. Besides, keeping Dark Lords from rising is not what we do; that's supposed to be the job of the Ministry and the Auror corps."

"So what, exactly, is this Hufflepuff conspiracy about?" Cedric asked.

"If you think you're the first one to come up with that name for it, you're sadly mistaken…and about eight centuries too late," Pomona said wryly. "The 'Hufflepuff Conspiracy'", she said, making quote marks in the air with her fingers, "is all about keeping things as free, fair and as reasonably honest as we can. As long as the Slytherins and Gryffindors don't slaughter too many of each other, or the Ravenclaws start insisting that we all have to dance skyeclad in an experimental mass ritual at the next Equinox, we generally let everyone go their own way, and do what they will. Frequently, that forces us to watch passively as people pay the price for their own greed, stupidity or lack of foresight…and that's fine. People should have the right to make their own mistakes, and rise or fall on their merits."

"And this kind of thing has been going on under the noses of the rest of the Houses for how long?" Cedric asked, curious. It sounded fantastic, unbelievably so…but then again, so did being pulled into an alternate future where he was dead, loaded up with money and advanced gear, and sent back to seduce the Boy-Who-Lived from taking the Dark Path.

"Almost as long as Hogwarts has been standing," Sprout said, chuckling. "And who would ever suspect us? After all," she went on, with a wink, "we're only those poor, duffer Hufflepuffs. We can barely get our boots on pointed forward."

"So…I'm to be a part of this 'Hufflepuff Conspiracy', then?" Cedric asked carefully.

"My dear Cedric, you already are," Pomona Sprout smiled. "The Sorting Hat put you in the Badger house, and that 'volunteered' you from that moment on."

"What about Harry?" Cedric demanded, his temper beginning to rise.

"Most of what I've told you, you can tell him; once you have a Wizard's Oath from him never to reveal it," the older woman said calmly. "It's common practice among those of us who marry out of House, and has rarely been a problem. Members of the other Houses who marry us and then are let into the secret usually try to protect us from others of their own or the other two Houses."

"We're only 'puffs, after all," Cedric laughed, and his Head joined him.

"Exactly! So, while they're 'protecting' us, we usually wind up co-opting them into the network."

"And they've honestly not caught on? Not after all of these years?"

Professor Sprout just shrugged. "Who can say? For all I know, there may be an inter-House cooperative plot between the Slytherins, Ravenclaws and Gryffindors to manipulate every Hufflepuff for the last 900-plus years into thinking that we actually have a conspiracy to gently take care of _them_."

Cedric snorted his disbelief at _that_ idea. "Somehow, I rather doubt that," he snickered.

Pomona snickered herself. "I doubt it, as well. Still, we've seen no direct evidence that they know about us…or for that matter, that they _don't _have their own counter-conspiracy going full-bore right now."

"So…what do I do?" Cedric asked.

Sprout nodded. As usual, if you laid out the full story (granted, in short form, but still enough to get the idea across) to a senior Hufflepuff, the inevitable reaction was exactly what Cedric's was. On those rare occasions when the 'puff in question didn't seem to be up for the task, then a quick _Obliviate_ by the Head of House (and a quick word passed around) took care of the problem quite nicely.

Pomona Sprout hadn't even bothered to bet herself that Cedric Diggory—Hufflepuff Poster Boy _par excellence_—would even think of refusing what she was offering.

"For right now, Mr. Diggory," Sprout went on formally, "I charge you, as current Head of the House of Helga Hufflepuff, to continue doing just what you're doing." She cocked her head to one said, regarding him carefully. "That especially applies to the support you're giving to Lord Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. It is imperative for the safety of our world, and the greater world around us, that He Who Must Not Be Named is unable to triumph against Lord Potter. Do you accept this task as I have given it to you?"

Cedric rolled his eyes. "Like I'd do anything else," he snarked.

"You must accept the task!" Sprout barked.

Cedric snapped up straight in his chair. "I accept," he said, and felt a wash of magic come over him.

"Well done, Mr. Diggory," the Head of Hufflepuff said firmly. Then, relaxing slightly, she went on. "You see, it's a magical tradition that goes back almost a millennium, and anything that old acquires a power all of it's own….

She was interrupted by the sound of a klaxon, and then the boom-slam! of the connecting door to Harry's room hitting the wall as it was thrown open.

"CED! Professor! Are you all right?" Harry demanded, charging into the room, hands wreathed in the shimmer of barely-contained magic, emerald eyes flashing as he scanned the room for threats. "I felt a magic surge, and…."

"Came charging to my rescue? Oh, my Hero," Cedric said lightly, moving to shield Harry from Sprout's view. "Put up your _wands_," he said, looking Harry straight in the eye, "and calm down, we're fine. Just a bit of old Hufflepuff magic, nothing to worry about."

Harry blinked, then twitched his hands, making his chopstick wands appear from their holsters. When he did, Cedric smoothly moved aside to let Sprout see the wands in Harry's hands, before he pointedly put them away.

"You're sure you're both okay," he growled, still scanning the room for any possible source of danger.

"I assure you, Mr. Potter, that we're both fine…but I do appreciate your concern in coming to check on us so promptly."

"I blame Mad-Eye Moody, myself, " Cedric said, trying to move the conversation away from any…potentially awkward topics. "Professor, you spend a few weeks training with the most paranoid man on the planet, and see if some of it doesn't rub off on you," he snickered.

Professor Sprout just laughed. "No need to explain any further, I know Alastor's reputation."

"Er, sorry I burst in like that," Harry said, shyly. Gone was the powerful, avenging wizard who had come charging in ready to battle dragons; in his place was an embarrassed teen who had just made a bit of a fool of himself.

Well, embarrassed teens Pomona Sprout could deal with in her sleep, even if they didn't seem to need wands when they were truly motivated. Interesting, that…but not important at the moment.

"Mr. Potter…Harry…it's quite all right; Cedric and I were just finishing up. If I could ask you to go back to your room for just another minute or two, we'll be done. I promise to give your boyfriend back to you in good condition."

For an instant, the look Harry flashed the Professor hinted at consequences most dire if she didn't return his boyfriend intact, and then it vanished as the embarrassed teen came back. "Okay, then…er, I'll just be leaving now," he blushed, closing the door behind him as he returned to his room.

Sprout waited until the door was well shut, then looked at Cedric carefully.

"Wandless magic?" she asked softly.

"Not quite," Cedric said, unwilling to say more.

Sprout shrugged, letting the matter drop. She hadn't earned that degree of trust…yet.

"As I was saying, Cedric, what you're doing is already exactly the right thing; keep it up. The main reason I wanted to come by today was to let you know that there are other resources out there that can be brought to bear on Harry's behalf."

"I appreciate it, Professor. For right now, I think that we've got things fairly well under control."

"I understand, and everything I've seen and heard makes me tend to agree with you," Sprout said. "Just be aware, and don't be afraid to come to me at any time…even if it's only for a cup of tea with your old Head of House."

"Thanks, Professor," Cedric said, meaning it.

"Oh, and there is one more thing, before I go," Sprout said, her the corners of her eyes beginning to crinkle with merriment. "As a seventh year Hufflepuff, you're now old enough to be introduced to Helga's Book of Erotic Secrets. I'll be arranging the usual meeting with all of your year mates soon, please make it a point to attend. I'll have to key each of you into the protected Room where the Book is kept; you can read it any time but it must never, _ever_ leave the Room. You have to take a Wizard's Oath about that before you can enter the Book Room, of course," she smiled.

Cedric stood there, gobsmacked. "You…you mean, Helga's book really exists? I thought it was just a myth, or a bad joke that people told."

Pomona Sprout only nodded gravely, but her eyes were still crinkled. "Oh, yes, it's quite real. You needn't worry…Helga had plenty to say for those of you who prefer their own sex. And, let's be realistic; there are only so many ways that a wand can be put into a cauldron, aren't there?"

With that, the Professor swept from the room, leaving a stunned young man behind her.

Cedric was still standing in the middle of the room, shaking his head in disbelief, when Harry peeked around the edge of the door to his room.

"Ced, can I come in?" he asked softly.

Shaking himself, Cedric nodded, then collapsed onto the couch where Harry joined him.

"Must be important stuff," Harry mused, settling himself comfortably against his boyfriend. "Care to share?" he purred, snuggling closer.

"Er…um…well, you know the old joke about the Hufflepuff Book of Love?" Cedric asked lamely.

Harry snickered. "Even a muggle-raised Gryffindor like me's heard of Helga's Kinky Sex Book," he said. "Dean Thomas even claimed to have a couple of pages from a bootleg copy of it."

Cedric tightened his arms around Harry and put his chin on Harry's head. "Turns out, it's real," he sighed, breathing in the scent of Harry's hair.

"Oh? So, got any good ideas from it?" Harry asked in a voice that was far too innocent.

"I haven't had a chance to read it yet, prat!" Cedric laughed. "The Professor was just telling me that it really exists, and that all seventh years are allowed to read it before we leave Hogwarts."

"Oh, really," Harry said, leaning back so that Cedric could see his eyebrows wiggling. "Any other great Hufflepuff secrets you'd care to share with me?" he asked, a lecherous grin splitting his face.

Cedric paused, his face still, and then he answered slowly and solemnly. "Actually, Harry, yes…", he paused. "I don't think Professor Sprout would mind, even though this is a secret passed down from Hufflepuff to Hufflepuff since the time of the Founders."

Harry leaned back, interested. "Cedric, I…if you'll get into trouble, then don't tell me."

Cedric shook his head, still solemn. "No, I don't think so, given that you are the Boy Who Lived. You see, Professor Sprout was just sharing with me the secret of…", and here he pounced, fingers going unerringly for Harry's ribs. "Helga's Secret Tickle Technique!" he yelled, as Harry squealed and tried to escape.

And it was well and truly _on_….

**A/N:** yes, this chapter does incorporate the Lady Augusta omake from many, many moons ago, which was suggested by **ReflectionsofReality**. It has been slightly altered to better fit its current position, but otherwise is unchanged from the version in _One Wizarding Summer_.

Thanks to all of you who reviewed, and asked when another chapter would be posted. I apologize for the long wait, but sometimes things don't always work out like we'd like them to. The next chapter won't be more than another two or three months in coming, I shouldn't think (it's already half-written). Hopefully, the extra size of this one (roughly 14K words) will, in part, make up for the long wait for the thing.

Special banana sticker to **wolfbladekeybearer**, who was kind enough to beta this for me. Anybody can get a gold star or a smiley face, but those banana stickers are REALLY special!

So, here's a question for the Committee of the Whole: is it 'buggar' or 'bugger'? Most references I check give it as 'either or'; I'd like to know which one you, as readers, use and prefer. I'd especially be interested in the opinions of people from the Commonwealth; here in Dixie we just usually tend to go with the good old Unlawful Carnal Knowledge expletive. Hmmm…maybe I should do a poll?

**Next Chapter:** there might be a duel….


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** And now, the Duel! And, naturally, the aftermath.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, and make no profit from this work, which is done purely (a) for entertainment purposes and (b) to honor the work of JKR.

**Vale Chapter 12**

There had been no effort made to hide the fact that the Headmaster was (albeit reluctantly) allowing the duel between Neville Longbottom and Cormac McLaggen to go forward; therefore, the entire school knew about it within five minutes of the start of lunch service. An excited buzz of conversation rose and fell all during the meal, stopping only when Dumbledore stood to make an announcement at its conclusion.

"If I may have your attention, please," he began, a low-level _Sonorus_ serving to carry his voice throughout the Hall. "By now, I'm certain that you are all aware of this morning's disagreement between Mr. McLaggen and Mr. Longbottom. Unfortunately, they have been unable to come to a resolution of the matter, and Mr. Longbottom has challenged Mr. McLaggen to an honor duel." As a murmur began to rise, Dumbledore boosted the voice amplification spell. "Lest any of you suddenly decide to imitate Mr. Longbottom's actions, I would caution you that this is a special situation, due to Mr. Longbottom's status as Head of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Longbottom. No student who is not a currently sitting House or Family Head may challenge another student to a duel, for any reason. We expect a high standard of behavior from our students, and that applies not only to good behavior so as to not give such grievous offence, but also to having the skills to resolve conflicts between each other without having to resort to the antiquated formality of the honor duel. However, Mr. Longbottom is within his rights to insist upon a duel, and the rules of Hogwarts specifically allow this in matters of Family honor." There, let them all stew on that, he thought, ignoring the stiffening of Lucius Malfoy and Augusta Longbottom from their positions at the high table with the faculty. "Professor Flitwick, as I'm certain you all are aware, is a former International Dueling champion, and has graciously offered his services as judge for this duel. Now, if you will all step away from your tables, we will reconfigure the Hall so that you may observe the duel, if you so wish." As if any of the little buggers would dare leave without seeing this, he thought.

Within moments, the tables and benches of the Great Hall had been rearranged into a standard elevated dueling strip and rows of bleachers on either side. The high table remained, secure behind ancient protective wards, while Flitwick and Dumbledore erected similar protections around the strip. Their task finished, Dumbledore sat back in his throne-like chair to watch while the students filed into the seats.

Flitwick found himself almost twitching with excitement that he hadn't felt in years, not for some time before he actually retired from the dueling circuit, as a matter of fact. Of course, he had some idea of young Longbottom's capabilities, and he suspected that Mr. McLaggen was in for a rather nasty surprise. Oh well, such was the inevitable result of overconfidence, he supposed.

The principals and their seconds entered the Great Hall from opposite sides of the high table and strode to stand before Flitwick. The Charms Professor noted that McLaggen and Weasley were wearing their student robes, while Longbottom and Diggory were wearing formal dueling robes. The stark black of the plain robes was an interesting contrast to the school uniforms of the two Gryffindors, both of whom were pointedly ignoring the fact that they were somewhat underdressed for the occasion.

Flitwick took a deep breath and applied his own _Sonorus_. "Gentlemen, once more, as Duel Master and Officiate, I must ask you if honor may not be satisfied in some other way." The formal phrase was not a question, even though it might have sounded like one to the uninitiated.

"Not bloody likely," McLaggen barked, while Weasley snickered at his elbow. Both of them looked terribly certain of themselves.

"No," Neville's voice was cold, hard. It matched the looks that he and Cedric were giving their opponents.

Flitwick's face didn't change as he went on. "Very well, then. As per the applicable rules of this school, approved by the Wizengamot and the Ministry for Magic, this duel will be to incapacity or surrender only. It is not a duel to the death, and should one of you inadvertently cause the death of the other, the surviving party will be immediately expelled from this school. That being said, the only restrictions are that no Unforgivable curses may be used. Should one of you be injured such that you are unable to continue within a reasonable period of time, your second may then take your place. Do you all understand these rules as I have explained them to you?" he asked, noting that all four young men bobbed their heads. "Gentlemen, please take your positions; Mr. Longbottom and second to my left, Mr. McLaggen to my right."

It only took a handful of seconds for the participants to walk to the ends of the strip, turn and assume formal dueling poses. To Flitwick's eye, McLaggen was sloppy and used almost as much unnecessary showmanship as Gilderoy Lockhart had, but some members of the audience seemed to enjoy it. Longbottom's calm demeanor never wavered, despite the fact that there were more than a few jeers and catcalls that greeted him. Well, except for the smiles and nods of encouragement he received from Mr. Potter and Miss Abbott, of course.

"Gentlemen, you will bow," Filius intoned, then waited for both to comply. "You may begin on my signal," he finished, then raised his arm. He paused one beat, two beats, three beats…then shot out a spray of blue and gold sparks as he cried "Begin!".

Cormac McLaggen smiled to himself as he watched Flitwick hold his wand up. He'd expected the pause before the formal start signal, and had started focusing his magic into his wand even as Flitwick was giving his final instructions. The sparks from the Professor's wand were still floating downward as Cormac fired off a tripping jinx, then hastily erected a shield in case the squib managed to actually get a spell off.

Neville saw the jinx coming towards him, and made a quick step to one side. The jinx slid by him to splatter on the shields around the strip. Then, instead of returning fire, he only stood there, calmly looking at McLaggen's shield.

It took Cormac several seconds to realize that Neville hadn't cast anything at him yet, and another few seconds before he realized that he didn't seem to be preparing to cast, either. Letting his shield drop, he cast a rather annoying itching hex in the general direction of Neville's crotch and then waited, prepared to dodge or shield as might be needed.

Neville's wand twitched, and the itching hex dove into the strip where it struck and dissipated harmlessly. McLaggen looked like he had bitten into something sour, and he muttered his next hex while his wand jabbed directly at Neville. The bilious green spell hissed as it sped towards its target, only to strike Neville's shield without any noticeable effect.

That was the pattern for the next few minutes; Cormac would cast, and Neville would shield, or side step, or divert the attack away from him. With each failed attack, McLaggen became a little bit more irritated. Finally, in frustration, he lowered his wand and yelled out, "Longbottom, you coward! Fight me, damn you!"

_"Dyslinguia!"_ Neville called out, giving his wand a quick upward twist and rotate. Instantly, the Babbling Jinx—short-lived cousin to the Babbling Curse—took effect, scrambling McLaggen's next words. While the older Gryffindor frantically tried to cast _Finite Incantum_, what came out sounded more like "Grobizzee lubozza". A second attempt faired no better, but it did cause a round of giggles and snickers from the audience as they realized just what had happened. Glaring at his opponent, McLaggen saw Neville just standing there, smirking at him, not making any attempt to take advantage of his situation. Then, just to add insult to injury, Neville smiled and waved his own wand negligently in Cormac's direction.

_"Finite Incantatem."_ Neville's soft voice barely carried, but Cormac jerked as he felt the Babbling Jinx lifted. Without taking any time to wonder just why Neville would lift the very hex he had cast, McLaggen began firing off curses as rapidly as he could.

_"Defodio! Confringo! Reducto! Expelliarmus! Incarcerous!"_

A collective gasp went up from the audience as Cormac suddenly went from the relatively minor hexes and jinxes he had been using to very powerful, potentially lethal spells. At the far end of the strip, Neville's eyes widened fractionally, and then…he moved.

What McLaggen expected—indeed, what most of the room expected when they heard his attack—was for the gouging and blasting hexes to thoroughly destroy the shield Neville must inevitably raise. Then, the banishing hex would have knocked him arse over teakettle, leaving him open and vulnerable to being disarmed and, finally, tied up like a goose ready to go into the oven.

What actually happened was a bit different.

Only a few people were watching Neville Longbottom closely enough to see a faint shimmer of magic spill out of his wand and up his forearm. Using a confident form that would later have the Weasley twins pestering him to try out for a reserve Beater spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Neville used a forehand-backhand combination to swat the first two spells away from him. A quick twist to his left put him in a perfect position to use a terrific forehand smash on the third spell, sending it directly back to a stunned McLaggen. Caught completely by surprise, McLaggen's _Protego_ was only half-formed when his own Reducto completely obliterated it. He was sent staggering backwards, his arms flailing madly as he fought to stay on his feet. He recovered just in time to see his magical ropes vanish as Neville transfigured them into puffs of smoke.

Snarling, McLaggen shook himself, then readied another barrage. He was getting tired of this, since the squib was obviously not going to be giving him a proper duel. He had no idea how Neville Longbottom, of all people, had managed to block his last salvo, but was too angry to do anything more than press the attack home.

Suddenly, his world literally turned upside down, as a twitch of Neville's wand and a whispered incantation grabbed his ankles and jerked them some ten feet into the air. Temporarily blinded by his robes falling over his face, he was struggling to get his wand free to dispel the hex when the body bind struck. His arms snapped to his sides, leaving him frozen and unable to move; then he felt his wand being pulled from his fingers by yet another low-level spell.

While Cormac couldn't see or move, there was nothing wrong with his hearing except that his robes were covering his ears as well as his face. Sadly for him, they did little to muffle the sounds of the audience, as they began cheering (or booing, depending) when Flitwick announced that Neville was the victor.

The next thing that McLaggen knew, he was being lowered to the ground (more gently than he would have done, he admitted to himself), and he was once again able to move his limbs. Furiously, he pulled his robe from his face, only to see the damned squib and Professor Flitwick standing over him.

Before Flitwick could say anything, Longbottom put his wand in Cormac's face and said coldly, "Cormac McLaggen, I have defeated you in magical combat, in front of these witnesses. Now, I will have your apology to Miss Abbott, Mr. Diggory, Lord Potter and myself."

"Bugger that!" Cormac spat. "The day I loose an honest duel to a squib like you, Longbottom, is the day that I snap my wand myself."

"Mr. McLaggen! As Officiate, I can assure you that this was indeed a fairly fought duel!" Flitwick burst out. He was on the verge of challenging McLaggen himself, school rules be damned, when Neville's calm, cold voice stopped him.

"Very well, then. As the one vanquished, and as witnessed by Professor Flitwick, you have refused my reasonable demands for satisfaction. So be it." And with that, he lifted Cormac's wand—Cormac hadn't noticed until just then that Longbottom still had it—and chanted a short phrase under his breath. Cormac's precious wand glowed briefly, then the finely polished wood faded to a dull gray. As it did, McLaggen felt a cold rush throughout his entire body, and he snatched at the wand Longbottom contemptuously threw down to him. He snatched up his wand, intending to blast that damned squib and sod the rules, only to feel…nothing.

Instead of the warm, almost tingly feeling his wand had given him ever since that day in Ollivander's when he first picked it up, there was nothing, absolutely nothing there. He might as well have been holding a stick of muggle plastic. Frantically, he gave his wand a good shake…no sparks, no change in sensation, nothing.

"Longbottom!" he bellowed. "What did you do to my wand?"

Neville paused, then turned back to face him. "Morgana's Chains, McLaggen. For a year and a day, that wand will be useless, to you or anyone else. I do hope you have a spare," he said, an evil little smirk playing over his face as he turned his back on the sputtering boy. Then, the victorious Neville Longbottom, Lord Longbottom, Head of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Longbottom, went to great his adoring public and garner his rewards.

Of all the acclaim he was to receive over the next few days, nothing came close to what he received from his 'two best girls': hugs and congratulatory kisses from his Gran and Miss Hannah Abbott.

Somewhat to his surprise, the 'two best girls' line got him another round of hugs and kisses from both of them, one right after the other. All in all, Neville felt the day had gone rather well….

* * *

For the second time that day, Albus Dumbledore found himself in his office with Lucius Malfoy, Augusta Longbottom, Minerva McGonagall and Filius Flitwick, discussing matters which made the august Headmaster distinctly uncomfortable.

"Of course, the Ministry must be informed," McGonagall was saying. "McLaggen's wand is useless, and the only way he can continue on this year is to acquire a new one. As he is still underage, another tracking charm must be placed on his new wand, and all such charms must be recorded with the Ministry. It's only a matter of time before the Ministry becomes aware of the situation; I see no benefit to anyone in delaying the inevitable."

"Minerva's right, Albus," Flitwick agreed. "If we don't immediately report what's happened, it gives the appearance that we're trying to conceal the entire matter. I can't see that doing anyone, especially Mr. McLaggen, any good."

Dumbledore sighed. "I suppose that you're right," he said. "Still, I only wish that Mr. Longbottom had shown a bit more restraint in his actions."

"To what end, Albus?" Augusta Longbottom asked bluntly. "Neville could have snapped the little berk's wand, and been completely justified in doing so. Merlin knows, I probably would have, in his place," she finished smugly, leaning back in her chair. If she had been pressed, she might—just might, you understand—have admitted that she was still glowing with pride in her grandson. After all those years of worrying that he was little better than a squib, his performance today had been that of a powerful young wizarding Lord. She still was going to have a few words in private with a certain Headmaster about the block on Neville's magical core—removed over the summer in Paris by Healer Latour, after a letter from Harry Potter had raised certain issues—but that could wait a bit longer.

"I certainly would have been tempted to snap his wand, in Neville's shoes," Lucius Malfoy added, with a nod to Augusta. He was savoring the feeling of being on the old dragon's side against the Hogwarts Headmaster. "Certainly the precedent is clear: Mr. McLaggen was soundly defeated by young Longbottom, and then refused to render the apology demanded of him. My own opinion, which I suspect most of the Governors will share, is that Mr. Longbottom showed remarkable restraint in only binding McLaggen's wand for a year and a day."

"Filius, do you think that there is any way for you to remove the binding?" Albus asked, grasping at straws.

The diminutive Professor shook his head. "Not likely, Albus; you know how difficult Morgana's Chains can be to break. I'm not even going to make the attempt, since the chance of damaging the wand itself is significant, regardless of whether or not the charm can be broken. No, the best solution is to send the boy to Diagon Alley as soon as possible so that Ollivander can try to find him a replacement wand."

"I doubt that a second wand will work as well as his original, but that's a minor issue," McGonagall said sourly. "I'm actually more concerned about Mr. McLaggen's behavior."

"Before, during, or after the duel?" Lucius asked, his voice carefully neutral.

"Yes," McGonagall answered, giving a repressive look to the Lady Longbottom, who looked like she was trying to hold in a giggle at Lucius' words. Really! And at her age! "Regardless of his personal feelings about Miss Abbott, Mr. Potter or Mr. Diggory, he should have had the grace and good sense not to openly be so insulting towards his peers. Even though he lost the duel with Mr. Longbottom and will have to obtain a new wand as a result of his refusal to apologize, I feel that further disciplinary action is warranted."

"What did you have in mind?" Dumbledore asked carefully.

"For starters, at least a month's detention with me. I think that Mr. McLaggen needs closer attention than he has received previously, and detentions are the best way for me to have that close contact time with him. Also, I intend to spend some time with my entire house, discussing matters pertaining to appropriate behavior for young gentlemen and ladies when in a public setting." The Deputy Headmistress sat back, a grim look on her face.

"It may be that all of the houses could benefit from such instruction," Flitwick said thoughtfully. "Schoolyard taunts and pranks are one thing, but what happened this morning is clearly beyond the pale."

"Perhaps it's time to bring up another topic I had been meaning to speak with you about, Albus," Augusta spoke up. "Lucius and I were just discussing the possibility of beginning a class in wizarding culture and traditions. I don't see why such a class couldn't incorporate a review of manners and etiquette as well."

"I'm not opposed to such an idea in principle," Dumbledore answered, only lying a little bit. "However, the addition of a new class to the curriculum would require the approval of the Board of Governors, just as a start. Then there would be the matter of finding an instructor, selecting a textbook, devising a curriculum plan for the year, and modifying all of the other class schedules to accommodate the new class. At best, I can't see having everything in place before the beginning of next year, if then."

"Oh, I really don't think it will take that long, Headmaster," Lucius leaned forward in his seat. "I don't think that the Board will have any significant objections to adding such a course, given that the general opinion is that young people today obviously don't get enough of that kind of instruction in the home. Sadly, I don't see any alternative to teaching them the rudiments of acceptable behavior here, at Hogwarts. As for an instructor, why not begin the course with a few volunteers from the community? I'm certain that the Lady Longbottom wouldn't be adverse to sharing her knowledge of manners and customs for a week or so; we can ask other members of the Ministry and the Alumni to come and speak, as well."

"While you're at it, Albus, why don't you see if you can find someone who could do double duty as a history instructor, as well?" Madam Longbottom put in cuttingly. "Binns was as exciting as cold porridge when I came through here, I can't imagine that he's any better now that he's dead. Plus, if the number of History OWLS is anything to go by, he's even less effective now than when he still had to take breaks in his lectures to breathe."

"I believe I speak for the Board when I say that Professor Binns' performance is a subject of some concern," Lucius nodded towards Augusta. "I would think that culture, tradition and etiquette would all fit nicely into a revised History of Magic syllabus, don't you agree, Madam Longbottom?"

"Quite, Lucius. Although, I do like the idea of having outside speakers come in to share their own viewpoints," Augusta agreed.

"Oh, certainly," Lucius smiled. "I could even see a place for Binns to remain, coming in to lecture for a week or so every year about the Goblin rebellions. As for a textbook, I'm sure that something could be found fairly easily. No, Headmaster, I'm confident that something could be arranged within a few weeks, at most, at least to get a class started."

"And is the Board also going to be willing to fund such an endeavor?" Albus asked neutrally. Given the well-known parsimony of the Board of Directors, his concern was only appropriate.

"Actually, Lord Potter mentioned to me recently that he would be willing to provide the funds for just such a course," Lucius said smugly.

"When did you and…Lord Potter have that discussion?" Albus snapped.

Lucius Malfoy grinned, enjoying being able to get one over on the venerable Headmaster. "Why, on Platform 9 ¾, as he and my son were preparing to board the Hogwarts Express," he said easily. "While we only spoke for a few moments, he expressed his concern about the dearth of instruction that he had been given about the wizarding world as a whole. Apparently, he felt the need to play 'catch up' this summer; fortunately, he had the resources of his godfather and the Black family library to guide him."

"Fortunate, indeed," Dumbledore agreed tightly. Then, his expression softened as he remembered the image he needed to project. "Well, it seems as though you've already given a great deal of thought to this," he went on. "In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd think that I was being presented with a fiat accompli."

"Not at all, Albus," Augusta said firmly. "Oh, I'll admit that there has been some discussion about the need for this kind of course for several years, mostly among people of my generation. I suppose that it is normal when you get to my age to find fault with the young, but you must admit, today's events seem to have brought the matter to the forefront."

"I couldn't agree more," Malfoy said. "In a way, we own Mr. McLaggen and Mr. Longbottom our thanks, for making such an obvious demonstration of the need for our young people to be aware of appropriate standards of behavior. I just wish that we could have addressed the problem without it having gone so far. I think that, in future, we should all be more aware of any other deficiencies in the children's education before things get out of hand…as they did today."

"Indeed, Albus, Mr. Malfoy and Madam Longbottom are both correct. This is obviously something we have been neglecting, to our shame. Now that the problem has been brought to out attention so blatantly, I don't see that we have any choice but to address it." McGonagall sighed.

"I suppose that we can no longer expect the parents to do this, can we?" Albus sighed, realizing that he would have to go along for the moment. Perhaps, with a bit of luck, he could even turn this to his advantage. Certainly no one would object if the Headmaster volunteered himself for several of the classes on wizarding etiquette…and who better to teach the history of the Grindelwald war? "Well, since you four," he said, including Flitwick with a nod of his head, "are already involved with this, why don't you work up a course outline for me to take to the Board? Also, I'll need a list of possible texts, and suggestions for lecturers, as well." Like all good administrators, Albus was a past master at delegating to his underlings. There, he thought to himself, let them do the work, if they're so eager to foist a new course off on me.

If any of the four objected, they hid it well. All Albus saw was four heads nodding in agreement before Minerva turned to each of them, inviting them to her office to discuss the matter further.

"Then, I'll look forward to seeing your report," the Headmaster rose from his chair, clearly dismissing the group. "In the meantime, if you'll excuse me…."

"Actually, Albus, if you have just one more minute, I'd like to discuss the possibility of starting a dueling club with you," Filius said, as McGonagall, Malfoy and Longbottom filed out. "I've already discussed it with Lucius and Augusta, as well as Minerva, Severus and Pomona; we all agree that a dueling club would be a valuable addition to the extracurricular programs here at Hogwarts. In years past, this school was as famous for the duelers it produced as for our Quidditch players; we think it's high time that we revived that tradition."

"I see," Albus sighed. "So, is this also something which you and Mr. Potter have already discussed, as well?"

Flitwick had the good grace to look sheepish. "He might have mentioned his interest in it, yes," he said, grinning.

"I see," Dumbledore repeated. Mentally, he sighed again. This was going to be one of those days….

* * *

By the time Albus was finally alone in his office once again, he had agreed to essentially all of Filius' requests: permission to announce the formation of a Hogwarts Dueling Club, permission to reopen the old dueling room and to schedule regular meetings. He had even agreed to allow Flitwick to solicit donations from parents and alumni for the small amount of funds such a club would require.

In all truth, the dueling club was only a minor irritation to the Headmaster. He seriously doubted that even as skilled a duelist as Flitwick could do much to improve the dueling skills of most of the student body, and it would do little or nothing at all for the populace as a whole. By the time another few years of Hogwarts students matriculated, the war with Voldemort would be over and done with, no thanks to the average wizard or witch's dueling skills. No, let Flitwick and Potter have their little club; it wouldn't matter in the long run.

The matter of the culture and etiquette course, even if it was folded into the History of Magic class, was something else entirely. Dumbledore was well aware that Binns was incompetent. The man had been only marginally acceptable as an instructor when he was alive; dead, he was beyond horrible. Binns had only kept his job due to his friendship with Armando Dippet, and Dumbledore had kept the man on because his incompetence kept the student's knowledge of history as low as it had ever been. Reasoning that those who are ignorant of history are much less likely to recognize the signs of a tyrannical government, Albus used Binns' shoddy teaching as part of his plan to mold the British wizarding world into a suitable subject population.

Albus paused, then turned in his chair. A wave of his hand caused two of the bookcases behind his desk to slide to either side, revealing an elaborate tapestry hanging in a concealed alcove. The tapestry showed an outline of the Hogwarts castle and ground, with small dots indicating people moving around the castle.

Dumbledore grinned, imagining how the Potter brat would respond if he saw the Headmaster's tapestry. He knew of the Marauder's Map, of course. In fact, the Marauder's Map was based on notes in a diary of Richard Potter's that James had found when going through his family's library. Lord Richard had been Headmaster of Hogwarts during the 1500s, and he had originally created the tapestry to help him manage the school more effectively. The diary was one of the many books that had survived the destruction of Potter Manor during the Grindelwald war (not even a Manor's wards were proof against muggle bombing raids, but the protection spells on individual books were apparently made of sterner stuff). Dumbledore doubted that Harry was even aware of the treasure trove of books that awaited him in his ancestral vaults. James' parents had discussed rebuilding the Manor multiple times, but as there had never been any pressing need, they had contented themselves with their other properties until they became victims of Voldemort first rise.

Shrugging as he contemplated the irony of using his ancestor's creation against him, Dumbledore first brought up the location of Harry Potter. Somewhat to his surprise, the Brat Who Lived was in his chambers, alongside Cedric Diggory. It seemed that the two were following the rules he had laid down, for once. The Headmaster's eyes narrowed as he considered that the tapestry was currently his only means of monitoring—_spying on_ were such ugly words—the occupants of the Lords Hall. That particular matter would have to be addressed, and soon! In the meantime, he would use what resources he had.

A wave of his hand and a muttered name brought up Lucius Malfoy's position. Currently, the blond man was strolling the halls in the company of Augusta Longbottom, both of them apparently headed for the entrance. Well, good riddance to both of them, Albus thought. He'd done only casual monitoring on both of them earlier in the day—Lucius had met briefly with Minerva and Augusta before leaving the two women in the Deputy Headmistresses' office while he sought out Severus Snape—a move he now saw had left him rather unprepared for what had later occurred.

At any rate, what was done was done. Now, it was time to consider just how to make today's events work for him, rather than against him.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy strolled easily beside Augusta Longbottom, thinking just what a strange day it had been.

It had all started at breakfast, when Narcissa had gently suggested that he might want to pay a visit to Dumbledore, rather than go into London as he had planned. When he asked his wife why, she only shrugged and said 'a feeling'.

Lucius had immediately changed his plans. Long experience had taught him that one ignored Narcissa's 'feelings' at one's own peril, and to one's deepest sorrow. While the former Miss Narcissa Black would never lay claim to the title of 'Seer', her intuition often reached into the realm of the uncanny. Certainly it wasn't a gift over which she had the least bit of control. Still, she had once told him that she only decided to marry him because of such a 'feeling'; her initial impression of him had been that he was a cold, pompous bastard who was probably a dead fish in the sack.

She told him this while they both lay exhausted, sweaty and damp in odd places, after a rather prolonged bout of lovemaking some months after they had married. Her confession that her initial impression had been 'a bit off'—to her great surprise, she was usually quite good about that kind of thing—he later realized was a cunning ploy to rouse him for one more go.

Oh, but he loved the conniving, Slytherin witch!

"Lucius, I hope that you're thinking about Narcissa, with that smirk on your face." His reverie was interrupted by the Lady Longbottom's impish statement.

"Beg pardon, Lady Longbottom, you are of course correct. I should have only been thinking of the radiant lady at my side," he demurred.

Augusta swatted him gently. "Oh, go on with you! I knew your father when he was just a little snot of an ickle firstie, so don't even try that with me."

Lucius smiled at the image of the stern, cool Abraxas Malfoy as a tiny little first year. "And how old were you then," he asked. "You couldn't have been much more than that yourself."

"I'll have you know that I was in my last year, when your father came to Hogwarts," Augusta sniffed. "Particularly sparse crop of Slytherins that year, as I recall."

"I'd like to hear the stories some day," Lucius said. "Somehow, I just can't see my Father as a firstie."

"Lucius, we were all firsties at one time…thank Merlin, most of us get better," the well-seasoned woman said, a twinkle in her eye. Unlike the Headmaster's, Lucius didn't feel uncomfortable when Augusta twinkled at him. For her, it was an expression of amusement at all of the things she had seen in her long life, and not part of a façade. In fact, now that he thought about it, there was absolutely no façade that he had ever seen about Augusta Longbottom—with her, what you saw was what you got. Of course, she could spin a tale with the best of them….

Lucius reached for his wand reflexively as he felt a bubble of magic rise around the pair. His eyes snapped to where Augusta was moving her arm in a curious fashion. Then, he saw that her fingers were gently clasping the handle of her own wand…which was pointed up her sleeve.

As the privacy spell settled in, Lucius relaxed. He only had the briefest of moments to consider the way Augusta had cast the spell before she was speaking to him.

"Don't try that with anything more than the simplest of spells, Lucius; you'll blow off something you might need later," she advised. Well, of course she had let him see, now hadn't she? "Still, it's a nice little trick for putting up privacy spells and anti-eavesdropping wards without being too noticeable about it." Her glance at the walls, where several portraits hung, spoke volumes.

"Indeed…and I thank you for the lesson," he smiled.

Augusta shrugged. "We used to teach it to everyone in the Snake house. I have no idea just when or how it fell out of favor. Perhaps it's time it was reintroduced, both to the Slytherins and to…other parts of the student body." Her gaze was piercing, intent.

"Your grandson, obviously," Lucius said, and was pleased when Augusta nodded fractionally. Right answer. Now, what else was she waiting for…? "Lord Potter, I suppose, would have good use for it."

Augusta gave a half-nod, half-shrug. "Possibly. Although, I suspect that he might have his own way of casting simple spells without blatantly using a wand."

Lucius' eyebrows creased minutely as he thought about what she was saying. Wandless magic? In a boy Potter's age? That would be…something rather special.

"At any rate, I see no reason while every student here shouldn't be exposed to the concept that the wand is a tool, just like any other; it can be used in several ways," Augusta went on. "It seems to me that the last few decades have brought about a mindset where people think 'if I don't have a wand in my hand, I'm helpless'. Sometimes, even when they have their wands, they're too useless to even think about. Look what happened in Hogsmeade the other night! Idiots, the lot of them," she spat.

Lucius froze, then carefully controlled his expression while he answered, slowly. "I'm certain that the element of surprise…."

"Surprise, my sagging arse!" Lady Longbottom said vehemently. "If a handful of people in Hogsmeade had kept their wits about them, they could have saved most of their village. No, I don't condone what was done," she said, her eyes burning into Lucius', "but I don't have to agree with—or like—the way the so-called 'victims' did absolutely nothing to try to fight back."

"I must confess to…similar feelings about the…lack of an effective response to the attack, myself," Lucius said.

Augusta nodded, as if he had just confirmed something for her. Lucius felt his blood run cold as he remembered just with whom he was speaking. The old dragon had a network that spanned decades of carefully cultivated relationships, both friendly and otherwise. A letter here, a casual remark there…and one Lucius Malfoy could find himself in a tight spot. A very tight spot, indeed.

"That's one of the reasons I brought up the dueling club earlier, when we were with Minerva," Augusta was going on, her eyes still on Lucius'. "I really don't care if Albus thinks we came up with the idea in his office, or if he realizes that it was already worked out before we went up there. I have no desire to see my grandson's generation grow up to be as useless and helpless as most of the last forty-odd years have. I suspect that you feel the same. Or, perhaps, will come to that view," she said.

The first thing that struck Lucius was the time frame that Augusta mentioned. Forty-odd years went back to shortly after Dumbledore had become Headmaster; by then, he would have been well into implementing his own vision for the school and the way it would prepare students for their future lives and careers. The next thing was Augusta's assumption that Lucius' own views would be changing in the near future. Did she know something Lucius didn't? Or, was she, as per usual, better informed (or better at reading the tea lives) than the other 99% of the population?

Lucius needed to buy himself some time to think…and to talk about all of this with Narcissa. "I don't know if we could call the idea for a dueling club a fiat accompli, even if that's exactly what the Headmaster accused us of," he disassembled. "After all, even if we did discuss it…and the sponsorship, and funding, and other details; no, it was only a good idea we'd had until the Headmaster signed off on the deal."

"Oh, naturally," Augusta said, her smirk and roll of the eyes letting him know that she had his number. "Using that logic, the same could be said about the revamp of the History classes."

"Well, naturally," Lucius smiled back, mirroring Augusta's words. "Albus is the Headmaster, after all."

"For now," Augusta muttered, then gave Lucius a sharp look. "Don't read anything more into that, Lucius. There are too many other things…and people…out there who need to be sorted before the Dumbledore situation is addressed."

Lucius rocked back. The casually intent way that Augusta mentioned 'sorting' those…other things chilled him. Especially since he might very well be one of those whom the Lady Longbottom might decide needed to be sorted out.

"Lucius, I want you to think about something," Augusta went on. "Over the next few days, think about what matters, and what people do as opposed to what they say. Family matters, to both of us…and to most people, more than anything else. Tradition matters, too…until it begins to drag us down, or hold us back. Most of all, think about whose ideas will be better for our grandchildren, and their children."

Lucius nodded, afraid to say anything.

His response, or lack thereof, seemed to be enough to satisfy Augusta. "Good enough, then. Now," she said, subtly dropping the privacy spell and starting to walk away. "I want you and your lovely wife to come to tea sometime soon…say, within the next couple of weeks. No, I won't take no for an answer," she said dismissively. "I've come to the opinion lately that we—our generations, that is—are setting very poor examples for the young people about the proper social obligations of those in our strata. Why, I remember a time when it was a dull week, indeed, when I either didn't go out, or have people over at least three times."

And with Lucius at her elbow, making the proper noises at the proper places, Augusta Longbottom made her exit from Hogwarts.

* * *

Meanwhile, Albus Dumbledore fumed. All the portraits could tell him was that Lucius and Augusta had a little chat behind what was almost certainly a wandless privacy ward. Then, the old she-beast basically ordered Lucius Malfoy to pay her a visit in the next fortnight.

That could be…inconvenient, Dumbledore thought. However, right at the moment, he had no idea about how he might prevent it.

And that, more than anything else, was what truly aggravated him.

* * *

That evening, a large snowy owl arrived at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Ignoring the owner of the house, it went straight to Remus Lupin. Stroking Hedwig gently, he took the letter before letting her fly off to the attic, where she knew there would be owl treats and fresh water waiting for her. And, probably, a fresh mouse; because Hedwig and the house elves got along famously.

"Well, I like that!" Sirius laughed. "You're just a border here, and you get more mail than I do."

"Could that be because I actually have a job as Harry's Seneschal, whereas you—as you so often remind us—are a 'Gentleman of Leisure'?" Remus answered, never looking up from the letter. Of course, that meant that he didn't officially have to acknowledge the rude face that Sirius made at him.

Sirius pulled his tongue back in his head (before Remus called him on it) and tossed his hair. "I'll have you know that not only am I strikingly handsome, but also independently wealthy; as such, plebian concerns like regular work are not only beneath me, but would also be a great impediment to sharing my wonderful, eligible self with the fair maidens of the world."

"Plus, you have me to keep up with the paperwork."

"Damn right!"

Remus chuckled to himself. Any day now, he expected to be named the Seneschal to the Black Family as well as the Potter line, _de jure_ as he already was _de facto_. A little birdie (well, a little Goblin) had told him that a certain Lord had made inquiries about just how many families one man could manage, legally. Normally, such a slip would have been considered a horrible breach of client-banker confidentiality, but the little Goblin (who was also highly placed in the Gringotts organization) was familiar with the unique circumstances surrounding the Potter and Black families, and the Dark Creature Lord Potter had selected as his right hand man.

Given the Ministry's views on Goblins, there was also an element of 'we Creatures have to stick together' to it. Plus, Remus always made sure to hold nothing back when he snarled at the Goblins, as good etiquette demanded.

They liked that. Good snarls were so rare these days, more the pity.

"So, what does the letter say?" Sirius asked, tired of waiting for all of the four seconds Remus had been reading.

"Mr. Padfoot should be aware that the entire cosmos does not revolve around him, and that this letter might have nothing to do with him or his great thumping ego."

"Mr. Moony should be aware that Mr. Padfoot continues to be the owner of this domicile, and can boot his mangy arse to the curb at any time should the mood strike him."

"Mr. Padfoot is welcome to do just that; Mr. Moony being a man of substance and influence in his own right, a few nights at a good hotel might be a pleasant change of scenery."

"Mr. Moony would find himself pining away within hours for lack of company, not to mention the delightful repartee."

"Mr. Moony could make a quick side trip to the Magical Menagerie for a talking parrot, who would undoubtedly be a better conversationalist than some he could name."

"Mr. Moony…wait a minute, did you just compare me to a parrot?" Sirius said, breaking the chain of patter.

"Unfavorably, yes," Remus nodded, the very soul of agreement. "Now, are you going to throw me out, or do you want to know what your godson wrote to tell us?"

Immediately Sirius went from mildly peeved at being on the poor end of the comparison to the parrot to bouncing with excitement. "So…give! What'd he say? And why did he write to you, and not his dear, much beloved godfather?"

"He wrote to me under his seal as Lord Potter, in case Dumbles has a way of monitoring the regular post owls."

"Wise of him," Sirius said, settling into a chair across from his friend's desk. He'd taught Harry the spell that was worked into the Potter seal on the letter, and that was generally believed to be tamper-proof. "So, give!"

Remus chuckled, and began summarizing the letter. "Harry says that they're all fine, they had a bit of excitement earlier today when a Cormac McLaggen of Gryffindor insulted Neville, Hannah Abbott, and he and Cedric. Neville challenged the boy to a duel—calling it a matter of Family honor—and smacked the boy down right sharply."

"Oh, I bet that Albus was fit to be tied about that!" Sirius laughed.

"Probably. Reading between the lines, our dear Headmaster tried to stop the duel, but Lucius Malfoy and Augusta Longbottom 'just happened to be at Hogwarts' this morning…and apparently they double-teamed Dumbledore into not only allowing the duel, but also signing off on the dueling club they wanted. Also, there's a rumor that History of Magic will be completely revamped to incorporate quite a bit of Wizarding Culture, Law and Etiquette."

Sirius was on the edge of his seat at this last. "What? Already?" That had been one of Harry and Cedric's long-term plans.

"Apparently, Lucius and Augusta have finally found something they agree on, and they managed to steamroller Albus into agreeing to what they wanted." Remus looked up, his eyes gleaming.

"Well!" Sirius sat back, flummoxed. "Lucius Malfoy _and_ Augusta Longbottom? That pair could run roughshod over a herd of hippogryphs. Oh, what I wouldn't give for a pensieve memory of THAT meeting!" He dissolved into giggles that were, the truth be known, highly inappropriate for the Lord of a most Ancient and Noble House.

"I can try to butter up Augusta for hers, but don't hold your breath," Remus said, smiling.

"When you write Harry back, ask him to have Neville try to get Augusta's memory. We'll drag out the pensieve, have Winky make popcorn, and make an evening of it!"

"All we can do is ask," Remus reminded him, but made a mental note to do just as Sirius suggested.

"Anything else going on at the castle?" Sirius asked, still giggling.

"No, not worth commenting on," Remus scanned the rest of the letter. "Cedric and Pomona Sprout had a 'secret meeting', and Harry says that Cedric's agreed to teach him everything in Helga's secret love book, but that's about it."

"Pfft! That book has got to be the longest running prank in history! As if the Hufflepuffs could ever keep the alleged one and only copy of such a thing secret for all of these years!" Sirius waved away the thought with one hand.

"You're still upset that none of the 'puffs you asked when we were there would teach you anything from it."

"Damn straight," Sirius agreed easily. "Why, think of the advances in the science of love if we could combine Helga's book with some of the better works from the Black library?" His eyes lit up as he considered that idea. "Kama Sutra, bah! We'd put it to shame, to shame, I tell you!"

"I'm sure you would," Remus said mildly, as Sirius sat there lost in grandiose (and probably seriously kinky) thoughts. "So, is there anything else I need to tell Harry?" he asked.

"Harry? Oh…no, not that I can think of," Sirius said, surfacing just long enough to answer Remus. "I do need you to come with me to Gringotts sometime in the next day or so; there're some odds and sods that need to be handled that I can't make heads or tails of." Sirius tried to be casual about it, but most of his mind was still contemplating the future incredible sex manual that he would write.

"We can't do it tomorrow, we've got to go to Hogsmeade, remember? Day after is the earliest we can both go together."

"Fine, Moony, fine," Sirius said. "Now, if you need me, I'll be in the library for a bit, there's a good man, entertain yourself," he said absently, strolling out of the room.

Remus shook his head and smiled fondly, before reaching for parchment and quill to write a reply to Harry's letter.

* * *

To the great surprise of everyone (and the great disappointment of Ron Weasley, who was eagerly looking forward to Harry's humiliation over the previous day's _Prophet_ headline), not a single Howler made its appearance in the Great Hall that morning. Still, there was no shortage of mail that morning, including four separate letters for Harry, three for Cedric and four for Neville.

The foursome was sitting at the Hufflepuff table, where they had been received in a style usually reserved for returning heroes. Having defended the honor of a Hufflepuff, Neville had been all but adopted by the Badgers; that he had asked Cedric to second him in said defense was just icing on that particular cake. There were more than a few defiant smirks tossed across the way to the Gryffindor table, where the mood was decidedly a bit on the sour side.

Of course, the all-house meeting that Professor McGonagall had called the previous evening (exempting Lords Potter and Longbottom, for obvious reasons) had been…unpleasant, to say the least. McGonagall's burr had been out in full force, which everyone knew only happened when her emotions were running high. She tongue-lashed most of the Lions up one side and down another, and taught more than a few of them the meaning of 'tear a stripe out of your hide'. The fact that there were _no_ rubies in the bottom of the Gryffindor hourglass—when even Slytherin had a few emeralds in theirs—left people wondering just how far in the hole Gryffindor already was in the house points race.

The story of Morgana's Chains had raced through the school like wildfire, sending the Ravenclaws (and Hermione Granger) charging to the library to look up the charm, and other retribution spells and hexes similar to it. Flitwick, hearing about it, had already decided to add it to the Charms course as soon as possible after normal classes resumed. Better to discuss the charm openly and honestly than let the rumor mill do it, he reasoned. True, it was only for a year and a day, and had begun as a judicial punishment. True, it was self-limiting, and could be imposed by certain Wizards and Witches as a punishment for wrongs done to them. False, it was Dark Magic, or prevented the original wand's owner from using another wand for the year and a day it was in effect. True, another wand was almost always a poor second choice, but was also almost always better than no wand at all.

True, if another student had cast it as a prank, rather than as a consequence of victory in an honor duel, they would be immediately expelled, and their wand subject to exactly the same charm. The school regulations and Wizengamot laws were in absolute agreement about that!

"I think I need a social secretary," Harry groused as he tried to sort letters while Hedwig perched on his shoulder, being fed bacon bits by Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones, both.

"I'm surprised that there weren't a dozen Howlers this morning," Susan said, reaching out to stroke Hedwig's feathers. "After the lunacy the _Prophet_ put out about you, there should have been at least one or two. So, that raises the question, just who did what to keep them out?" She looked first at Harry, then Neville, then Cedric, then finally at Hannah…all of who looked back at her with bland expressions on their faces.

"I'm certain that we have no idea what you're talking about," Cedric answered for the group, reaching for the scrambled eggs. "Because interfering with the owl post would be a serious offense in the eyes of someone's aunt, who just happens to be the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

Susan made a moue of irritation, then shook her head. "As if I'd ever rat you four out to Aunt Amelia…or if she would do anything about it," she huffed. When that got her no response, she sighed. "All right, but if she finds out and comes calling, she didn't hear it from me."

"Or any of the rest of us on THE DECENT SIDE OF THE ROOM!" Justin Finch-Fletchly said, pitching his voice so that the last part carried toß the Gryffindor table.

A chorus of 'here, here!' from the rest of the 'puff table almost covered the hisses of approval (from the Slytherins) and reproof (from the Ravenclaws) his statement brought on. At the same time, a few of the Gryffindors looked almost ready to fight…or explode…or something…but their prefects were working hard to keep them suppressed. All they could do was turn red, and stare at the floor…well, and give dirty looks to Cormac McLaggen and Ron Weasley, the goats of the morning.

Just then, a poor, scraggly, ancient owl managed to somehow flap its way into the Great Hall, a steaming red envelop in its claws.

"Well, it looks like I spoke too soon," Susan said, pointing with her eyes. Beside her, Harry stiffened, a chopstick appearing in his hand as he prepared to put Moody's Howler Blaster to good use.

"It's not coming for this table, love," Cedric said, a gentle hand on Harry's forearm holding his wand beneath the table, out of sight. "Just watch."

Sure enough, the Weasley's owl, Errol, was heading for the Gryffindor table. It almost made it.

With a last gasp, Errol collapsed in the middle of a pan of oatmeal at the Ravenclaw table, covering most of the third and fourth year Ravens in the congealing mess. Their screams of upset, however, were drowned out when the Howler—now freed from Errol's clutches—bounced up and streaked straight to Ron Weasley.

"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY! NOT TWO DAYS INTO THE TERM, AND ALREADY YOU'RE INVOLVED IN A HONOR DUEL? AGAINST NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM, ANOTHER GRYFFINDOR, NO LESS! JUST WHAT HAS GOTTEN INTO YOU, YOUNG MAN? YOUR FATHER AND I RAISED YOU TO KNOW BETTER! AND YOU, HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER, LETTING HIM CARRY ON WITH SUCH FOOLISHNESS! YOU, OF ALL PEOPLE, SHOULD KNOW BETTER, EVEN IF RONALD DOESN'T! I DON'T KNOW WHO I'M MORE UPSET WITH, OF THE PAIR OF YOU! REST ASSURED, HERMIONE, THAT I'LL BE SPEAKING TO YOUR MOTHER ON THE FELLYTONE ABOUT THIS BUSINESS THIS VERY DAY! AND RONALD, IF I HEAR OF ANYTHING LIKE THIS HAPPENING AGAIN, EVER, I WILL COME TO HOGWARTS AND SORT YOU OUT MYSELF! SEE IF I DON'T!"

"Ah, yes, the dulcet tones of Molly Weasley; such a fine way to start of a morning," Harry smirked. "I'm not going to look, but I'm going to guess that Ron and Hermione are arguing, aren't they?"

"Oddly enough, they are," Neville returned Harry's smirk. "Who would have imagined that? Certainly not I," he said, all sweetness and mock innocence.

"It's an interesting parenting technique, that's for sure," Hannah said. "Punishment by shaming, and in front of his entire peer group."

"That won't happen to any of my children," Neville said, firmly, then paused and glanced at Hannah.

"On that, Lord Longbottom, we couldn't agree more," Hannah said firmly, then smiled.

"Oi, just don't start the family while the rest of us are trying to eat breakfast, you two," someone called from just down the table.

The general laughter that followed made all the Gryffs look up angrily…but that was about all that they could do.

* * *

By unspoken agreement—negotiated with a few quick glances over breakfast—neither Harry, Cedric nor Neville opened their letters at the breakfast table. The few curious glances at their piles of postage were dealt with by Neville's firm "I refuse to deal with correspondence until I've had my morning bangers and tea". Apparently, it was the right thing to say to the eminently practical 'puffs around them.

Breakfast, then, was an easy, stress-free affair. Since the rest of the students would be escorted back to their dorms by the prefects, and no one was in a tremendous hurry to do that, everyone took their time and had a second cup of tea or piece of toast with jam. It wasn't until the houses were finished and lining up for the return to their common areas that the irritations began.

"Honestly, Harry, I don't see how you can support such a horrible idea," the grating voice came from over Harry's left shoulder. Grimacing, he quickly schooled his features into a calm mask before he turned.

"And good morning to you, too, Hermione. I'm just fine this morning, thank you, I slept very well. You?" he asked, a patently fake smile plastered on his face.

Hermione began to color. "Don't play that with me, Harry Potter! You want to gather up all the werewolves in England and put then next to a school full of children? Are you mad?"

Harry's expression didn't change. "No, I don't think we'll have any rain today, or tonight either. I'm expecting it to be fine weather for flying…care to join me later today for a go 'round the pitch?"

At Harry's _non sequitor_, Hermione blinked and then got even angrier. "What the…? Did you even hear what I said?"

Harry let any emotion fall from his face. "I did hear it, but it was so insulting that I chose not to take note of it. If I had, then I would have been obligated to answer you, and my first impulse was a toss-up between screaming back at you or slapping you. Since I really don't want to do either until my breakfast has a chance to settle, I'm going to continue ignoring you. Good day, Hermione," he said, his voice suddenly light and chipper.

Harry turned and walked away, Cedric on one side and Neville (flanked by Hannah) on the other, while Hermione sputtered. Finally, she came back to herself.

"Harry James Potter!" she roared in a voice that would have done one of Molly's howlers proud. "How…how dare you…?" she began, then stopped.

A solid wall of bodies—most of Hufflepuff House—had somehow moved between Hermione and Harry's entourage. Hermione found herself standing nose to nose with a coldly furious Susan Bones, and was not a comfortable place to be.

"Shut it, Granger, just shut it," Susan said coldly. "We're all tired of you and your self-righteous attitude. You've been a right pain in everyone's arse since the first train ride here, and we're all just about done with it. We don't give a fig about who your parents were, or weren't; what pisses us off is your irritating, know-it-all, insufferable, I'm-always-right-and-you're-obviously-wrong attitude. News flash, Granger; you may be smart about things in books but you are absolutely clueless about anything else—and that includes your dunderhead of a boyfriend and your only other friend, who you've worked hard to alienate from everyone around him besides your needy, whiny self."

"I…you can't…" Hermione gasped, completely shocked.

"What? Can't talk to you like that? I don't see you stopping me," Susan went on with a smirk. "It's going to be fun, wiping the strip with you in Dueling Club. Maybe having your arse…which, by the way, seems to be growing wider every day…handed to you a few times will knock some sense into that bushy head of yours…but I doubt it. Face it, Granger; if it weren't for Harry and the ickiest Weasel, you wouldn't have any friends, for good reason. We. All. Hate. You. And, this is your official notice: Harry is an honorary 'puff now, and we protect our own. He's always been too good for you, and I personally am going to make it my life's work to prove it to him."

With a last glare, Susan and the rest of the Hufflepuffs left the Great Hall, leaving a stunned, speechless (for once) Hermione Granger standing there.

At the High Table, several sets of eyes took note of what had just happened, but none of the Professors felt compelled to intervene.

**A/N:** for those of you who wondered about the Great Hufflepuff Conspiracy (Chapter 11), I'd highly recommend **Clell65619's** wonderful take on same in his **Big Box of Silliness** (his version of my **Bits Box**). I'm certain that there are others out there (I've read them, I just can't remember where)—one comes to mind that prominently features Mad-Eye Moody, widely regarded as the world's most paranoid 'puff EVER—and if you run across them I'll be glad to give them a mention.

In case you're wondering, the Pie Fight Scene that was Chapter 11 has now been moved to a new 'story', **The Bits Box **(access through my profile). I just couldn't let it disappear, and it's going to be a while before this story catches up to that point. Also, I needed a place for bits and pieces of stories to go….

One reader claims to be done with me and this story, because they feel that I'm being too nice to Hermione, especially the way she'll be somewhat rehabilitated come the pie fight scene. Pity, I think they left a chapter or two early…. Still, it brings up a valid point: if you don't like a story, it's your option to quit reading it. Suggestions, hints, rants, gripes, moans and groans, wishes and potential complications are all welcome, but ultimately, we write what we write. I personally don't read any fanfics about anime characters, even those by authors I like. It's nothing against the author, it's just that I don't care for anime, and certainly don't give a rat's arse about any anime characters…certainly not enough to waste my valuable napping time reading about them.

I assure you, my 'true' feelings about Miss Granger can be found in my story** 'By Magic Bound, or Love Slaves of Diagon Alley'**. Still, I have to take some steps to get Hermione to the point she was at when this story began, 'way back in **Once Upon A Cedric** (which, btw, I'm going to eventually take down, re-edit, and repost…eventually). Rest assured, it won't be easy, quick or pleasant for the bushy one.

Another banana sticker to **wolfbladekeybearer, **previewing this. Sorry it took so long, but (as most of you know) the site has been a bit wonky; it was only today that ReaderMike's message about how to update got to me. Hopefully this will be fixed, and soon. This was ready for posting last weekend, and I really did try... Oh, well, better late than never, I suppose.

**Next Chapter:** letters from everywhere….


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N**: Oh Sweet Merlin! He's finally published another chapter! The story moves forward just a bit, with Sirius and Remus coming to Hogsmeade, and an emergency session of the Wizengamot called. Also, Madam Umbridge is still around, sadly. Professor Sprout and Cedric have a little talk.

**Disclaimer:** nope, still don't own any of it, sadly. *Epic Sigh*

**Chapter 13**

Harry, Cedric, Neville and Hannah were surprisingly alone outside the Great Hall, and during the few steps it took to bring them to the Lords Hall. This gave Neville and Hannah the chance for a quick kiss 'goodbye' (while Harry and Cedric pointedly looked away) before the rest of the Badgers swept past. If either of the Lords themselves noticed the unusually high number of nods, smiles and waves they got from the 'puffs, Cedric Diggory did—and he knew what it meant. Something had happened in the Great Hall, and Helga's House had stood together while it was happening. Mentally, Cedric shrugged….he'd hear about it soon enough. The high spirits of his fellow 'puffs was enough to tell him that the situation was well in hand.

A short while later, the threesome was scattered around Cedric's sitting room, reading their mail. Cedric and Neville both had official-looking packets bearing the Ministry's seal, delivered by Ministry owl shortly after breakfast: official notice of their participation in an honor duel, the outcome of same, and the standard boilerplate certifying the results, including Neville's use of Morgana's Chains. Flitwick had apparently wasted no time in completing his part of the parchmentwork. The Ministry had basically rubber-stamped his version as Officiate, then endorsed Neville's right to both claim Family honor and meet out the punishment he had. There was even a bit about how he would have been well within his rights to snap McLaggen's wand; therefore, the Ministry regarded his use of Morgana's Chains as well within both the letter and spirit of the law.

Neville and Cedric also had brief notes from both Lucius Malfoy and Augusta Longbottom. Naturally, Augusta's letter to her grandson was a bit longer than the one she sent to his second. They were all perfect examples of polite, upper-class letters—brief to the point of being obtuse and painfully correct in their wording. Except for Madam Longbottom's letter to Neville, which had a postscript under the formal message:

_ You've done us proud, my boy. Your first best girl._

Neville blushed and beamed as he showed off his letter, pointing out the last line. After the obligatory ribbing, Harry and Cedric both congratulated him once more on the impression he had made all 'round the day before.

Uncle Algie seemed to agree; his letter was not nearly as formal as Augusta's, but was much warmer. He'd heard about the use of the family's Batting Charm, and reminded him that it was only to be taught to family…or close friends and allies.

"Nev, do you think your Uncle would agree to have a few sessions of dueling practice with us? I think we could manage to get away for the odd weekend here and there, so he wouldn't have to come to Hogwarts," Cedric suggested.

Neville shrugged. "I don't see why not. Why not ask Professor Moody if he'll formerly invite him to address the DADA classes? Uncle Algie's an Unspeakable, so his credentials shouldn't be an issue with certain Headmasters."

"Maybe while he's here, Flitwick could get him to spend some time with the Dueling Club, too," Harry was thinking out loud, to general agreement. Neville promised to send his uncle an owl, and Cedric made a note to ask the two Professors, and the group moved on.

Cedric had a very warm letter from his parents that barely mentioned the duel. However, Amos did have some interesting hints about 'things are moving quickly' at the Ministry, and gave the boys a heads-up about an emergency meeting of the Wizengamot being called. He suggested that Harry and Neville might receive notification by house elf later that very day, if what he was hearing wasn't just water cooler speculation.

Harry had brief notes from Lucius and Augusta about revising the History of Magic class. Both thanked him for providing the impetus for the idea and reminded him that he'd volunteered to pay for it. Harry got a good laugh out of that part.

"Oh, I'll pay, and smile with every galleon; especially since Augusta and Lucius are both planning on giving some of the lectures on etiquette and manners themselves. Won't that just burn Dumbles' biscuits? I wonder who they'll find to replace old Binns," he mused.

"Hopefully someone a bit less dead," Cedric deadpanned, which set Harry and Neville to laughing for several minutes, as they made a number of (very bad) 'dead history' jokes at the old ghost's expense.

Harry went back to reading his mail during Neville's rather good imitation of Binns teaching the history of the Roman Empire ("Sir, I knew Julius Caesar, and you are no Caesar!). He made a point of ignoring Cedric's comeback (Romulus and Remus? Oh, yes, delightful boys, the both of them, but I couldn't say much for their manners at table…I blame their upbringing, of course.), concentrating instead on his Seneschal's plans to visit Hogsmeade with his godfather that very day. Remus apologized, saying that they probably wouldn't visit the castle, but he promised to mirror-call that evening when they had returned to London.

Lupin went on at some length describing Sirius' intent to 'walk up to the bloody doors and bang away until the old coot lets me see my godson!' Fortunately, Padfoot had been convinced that would not be in their best interests just now, and promised at least two thirds of the time on the mirror that evening. There was also something about a parrot, but Harry didn't understand it; he filed it away to ask about that evening.

Eddie Spindle had also sent Harry a small letter. There were a number of things the solicitor was working on, mostly cleaning up the affairs of the Potter estate. While the Wizengamot and Ministry had effectively declared Harry to be of legal age, and Head of House Potter, doing the paperwork to match that declaration was proving to be more of a herculean task than Harry had ever imagined.

One of the things complicating matters was the fact that the wills of James and Lily Potter had never been formally read nor probated. Apparently, someone had sealed them under the seal of the Wizengamot the day after they were murdered, and they were proving to be surprisingly difficult to unseal.

Harry's muttered "Gee, three guesses" was only answered by grim looks passed between Cedric and Neville.

So, while Harry could now access his Family vaults and much of the Family properties, he legally had no title to the cottage at Godric's Hollow or access to any of the items in James' and Lily's personal vaults. Eddie was working on it, but the tubby little solicitor had little to report in the way of actual progress. He shared with Harry his plans, which to the young man sounded quite reasonable: unseal, read and probate the wills, then audit everything in all of the accounts with a fine-toothed comb.

What Spindle didn't come right out and say was that he smelled a rat—or more likely, a meddling old coot—with his fingers in the Potter's accounts 'for the greater good'.

"Well, I wish that I could say I didn't believe Eddie, but given what we already know to be true…" Harry trailed off, shaking his head.

"More wood for Dumbledore's fire, Harry," Neville counseled solemnly. "I know that Gran's keeping a file on everything we found out about me this summer in Paris, and Uncle Algie's aware of it. That means that at least two or three other Unspeakables know about it, and probably are taking bets on just when we'll go to the press."

Cedric grinned. "So, you're saying your Uncle is a gossip, and that the Unspeakables like to play the office lottery?"

Neville grinned right back. "I'm saying that Algie gossips worse than most old women, and the Unspeakables would run a pool on which direction the sun will come up next Tuesday."

"That fits with what Dad's said," Cedric laughed. "What annoys the rest of the Ministry is that they know the Unspeakables are running betting pools on all and sundry, and won't let anyone else in on their action!"

"I am completely shocked that anyone in our government would act in such a fashion," Harry said calmly, not looking up from his mail. Reaching out, he picked up a quill, scribbled a few words and his signature on one of the sheets from his solicitor, and called out for his owl.

"Hedwig, here's my best girl," Harry cooed, stroking the white owl's feathers affectionately. Hedwig, accepting the praise as her just due, just hooted softly and nipped at her master's fingers gently. "I need you to take this to Eddie Spindle at his office, but there's no need to wait for an answer," Harry said, tying the letter to Hedwig's leg. With a flap of her wings, she was off, sailing through the connecting door to Harry's room—as usual, standing wide open when it was just the residents there—and vanished.

"We really do need to follow her one of these days," Cedric mused, but didn't get up to act on what he had said.

Harry just shrugged. "You're right, of course. Still, I don't think that Voldie's going to use Hedwig's access into the castle to sneak in and slit our throats at night, do you?"

Since it was generally agreed that it was unlikely to happen, the topic was dropped. Instead, Neville began reviewing with Harry and Cedric just what was likely to happen if and when they were summoned to an emergency session of the Wizengamot, beginning with the appropriate apparel.

"At least I won't be wearing Dudley's castoffs this time," was all that Harry had to say about that!

* * *

Sirius stepped through the temporary floo station that had been set up inside Hogsmeade station, then quickly moved to one side to let Remus exit the fireplace. A quick flick of his wand cleaned them both of soot and any residual smell of smoke, and they looked around at the moderate level of chaos surrounding them.

Everywhere they looked, people seemed to be in a hurry, bustling from here to there with great purpose.

"Quite a bit different from the way the station usually is," Remus commented, to which Sirius nodded his agreement.

"I suppose there's nothing like being burned to the ground and having to rebuild to energize a sleepy little hamlet," he answered. "Still and all, I think I'd rather have the town the way it was."

"No argument, Sirius," was all that Remus said, before leading the way out of the station and towards High Street. Before they had gone far, they saw a sight that made both of them pick up their feet.

"The Three Broomsticks!" Sirius laughed. "I might have known that Rosmerta couldn't be kept down by something so passé as a Death Eater attack! First rounds on me!" he boomed, almost dragging Remus into the large tent behind the salvaged sign.

"Ah, the ever-radiant Madam Rosmerta! Truly, the loveliest witch this side of Hadrian's Wall," Sirius was all smiles as he strode across the room to the bar.

"Ah, the ever-full-of-shite Sirius Black! He never writes, he never calls, and then blames the Dementors! As if I'd ever believe a word of it!" Rosmerta fired back. Then, more softly and warmly, "it's good to see you here, Lord Black. We've been following what happened to you in the papers, and it's just awful! Whatever were those fools on the Wizengamot thinking, sending you to Azkaban without a trial? Horrible, just horrible! Here, now; your first drink's on the house." And with that, Rosmerta began filling a glass with Young Ogden's Blue Flame.

If Sirius objected to being given a glass of well liquor, he didn't show it. Sliding onto a seat at the bar with an easy grace, he grinned at the bartender and took the proffered shot. "And here's to a lady with the gumption to open back up, to offer solace and comfort to such as us. Another one of these for me, and one for my friend as well. You remember Remus Lupin, don't you, Rosie?"

Rosmerta gave the tiniest of pauses, then turned with a smile to Remus. "Professor Lupin? Oh, yes, I remember him from…what was it, year before last? When you were teaching at Hogwarts?"

"Hello, Madam Rosmerta," Remus said, taking a seat beside Sirius. "Yes, that's correct, I did my year as DADA instructor two years ago."

Rosmerta stood there a moment, then asked carefully. "And is it true…about your condition?" she asked neutrally.

Remus met her eye and nodded once. "Yes, it is. I was bitten as a child, and have carried the curse ever since. Although, I will say, since the Wolfsbane potion has been developed, it's much easier, and safer, to bear."

"The children all said that you were one of their better professors, and that means something," the proprietor of the pub went on in her careful voice. "A number of them were quite put out when the story came out, and you had to leave the castle."

Remus just shrugged. "It needed to happen, after my condition came out in the papers. Too many people had concerns for the safety of their children, and I can understand that all too well."

"And what about us here in Hogsmeade? What's this about using werewolves to rebuild the place? Won't that put all of us in danger?" Now Rosmerta was concentrating intently on the werewolf in front of her.

Remus' look back was calm, but just as intent. "I assure you, Madam, that I will do everything in my power to protect not only the people of Hogsmeade, but the infected themselves. We've only just begun discussing the hows and wherefores, but I can promise you that no werewolves will be brought here until we are absolutely certain that everyone involved will have nothing to fear from our workers."

"Harry Potter himself supports the idea, you know," Sirius put in. It seemed like a good time to make use of his godson's reputation in a positive way, and he felt sure that Harry would understand…once it was properly explained to him, of course.

Rosmerta waved this away as she refilled both men's glasses without being asked. "And is that the dangerous lunatic child the Ministry talks about, or the young Lord who runs around saving people from Dementors?" she asked, smiling once more.

"Yes," Sirius and Remus said in unison, before looking at each other and snickering.

Rosmerta chuckled at their antics, then sobered once again. "Well, I hope that he…and whoever else you've got working on it…come up with some jolly good answers in jig time, because I'll tell you, word's already gotten out." She jerked her head once toward a table in the far corner of the pub. "Those two showed up yesterday afternoon, looking for Professor Lupin, here…."

"Please, Madame, it's just Remus now," he interrupted her.

"Then, Remus, it's just Rosmerta…or for you, Rosie me darling," she smiled at the gentle man. "At any rate, they seem polite enough, and said they were looking for work. I needed some help in the storeroom, so I let them do it for some nosh and a place to kip, and they did 'a right well. Still and all, I don't have that much more to be done around here, and they don't seem to be exactly swimming in galleons," she said.

"The full moon's still more than a week away, if that's your concern," Remus began, only to be cut off.

"I can read a calendar as well as the next one, ye daft man," Rosmerta said, a smile taking most of the sting from her words. "No, I'm wondering what they'll do here in a day or so, when I run out of things to keep them busy. Any bright ideas?"

Sirius' almost certainly inappropriate comment was cut off by Remus' nudge. "I suppose I should talk to them, then," he said, giving Sirius the evil eye. "There's a lot of work to be done at Lord Black's property, clearing away the rubble and such, before any new construction can be done." Sliding off the stool, he made his way towards where the two men sat.

"Oh, and when were you planning on telling me that _Lord_ Black," Rosmerta asked, "was going to be one of the neighbors? And here I had hopes of attracting a higher class of people to the old place," she sighed theatrically, pouring Sirius another shot. "Oh well, at least I'll not want for a place to get rid of me cheap firewhiskey," she grinned, then winked at a smirking Lupin.

"Oi! Do you talk this way about all of your customers?" Sirius objected. Of course, his outrage didn't keep him from tossing back his drink.

"Only the nobles," Rosmerta assured him. "The rest aren't worth the time to mention," she finished.

"Bloody hell, I should open my own place," Sirius groused.

"Maybe you should, at that, Black," Rosmerta said, a thoughtful look in her eye. When Sirius looked up at her, surprised, she only leaned in closer and lowered her voice.

"See here, me Lord; you opening your very own pub here in the wreckage of Hogsmeade might be just the thing we need. Oh, I'll admit, right now there's little enough trade as it is, just to split between here and the Hog's Head. Still and all, if a notorious figure like yourself was to open up a place here, it would send a powerful message to those who pay attention to such things."

"Like the Dark Lord who attacked here in the first place? Why wouldn't that just be hanging out a sign begging him to do the same thing again?" Sirius asked, interested despite himself.

"Aye, it might. But then again, it might just encourage the people who've lost everything here to stay and rebuild, Merlin forbid anyone else come here."

"Rosmerta, I've joked about it in the past often enough, but still…." Sirius trailed off, shaking his head.

"Just think about it, me Lord; I'll guarantee my support if and when you decide to do it. I'd love nothing more than to have some decent competition…not that I think that you'd be any real competition for me and my place," she said, grinning and pouring Sirius yet another drink.

"Oi! The cheek of the wench!" Sirius laughed, lifting his glass to her in salute. "I promise you I'll think on it, but nothing more than that."

"Good enough," Rosmerta said. "In the meantime, feel free to spend your gold in my humble little tent here; three more like you and I'll be back in a real building soon enough."

Sirius had sense enough not to even respond to the taunt, only grinned and sipped his drink. A glance from Rosmerta had him cutting his eyes to the side, to where Remus was introducing himself to the two laborers.

"Gentlemen, Rosmerta said that you were looking for me. I'm Remus Lupin, Lord Potter's Seneschal."

Both men looked up at him, the smaller of them motioning for him to sit. No one said anything for a long minute after Remus had seated himself, which gave them each time to regard the other.

Both of the men were werewolves, Remus knew immediately. By the way each of them sniffed the air, they also recognized the wolf in his scent as well. One of them was large and well-muscled, with a face that might be pleasant were it not for the scowl he was wearing. The other was smaller, wiry, and trying very hard (if Remus was any judge of such things) to make his face as blank as possible. Finally, the smaller of the two men spoke.

"And just what sort of man is it who takes his name after the curse he carries?"

Remus sighed. Given how most wizards regarded werewolves, it was surprising that more people didn't ask. Still and all, since he hoped to work with these men, or others like them, he supposed that he might as well start out by being brutally honest. Hopefully, they would spread the tale, and he'd be spared having to repeat himself a dozen times a day for the next several months.

"I was bitten as a child," he said, keeping his own face neutral. After so many years, it was almost easy. "My family wasn't as lucky as I. Greyback slaughtered them." Nods from both men across from him at the mention of the other werewolf's name helped him continue. "There were only a few survivors of his attack on our village, one of those was an old muggle-born man who took me in."

Remus paused, then shrugged. "He was also infected, and when he adopted me later on he had both of our names changed to 'Lupin'. He chose 'Romulus' for himself, and 'Remus' for me. He always said that our old lives had died the day of the attack, along with both of our families. At the time, I thought it was funny, and a great improvement over 'Reynolde', which I hated." Remus smiled at the innocence of youth. "Since both of our family lines end with me, it's not like there was any reason to keep our old names. Neither side had any inheritance worth mentioning, so…." He shrugged, falling silent.

"So…yaaahr fafhar?" the large man asked softly. His cockney accent was thick enough to cut and spread on bread.

"He died shortly after I left Hogwarts," Remus said, just as softly. "During the first Voldemort war," he added.

"So, then…it's true, what the papers are saying, that the Dark Lord's come back?" the first, smaller man asked.

Remus nodded. "So says Harry…Lord Potter, and I have no reason not to believe him."

"Gor blimey."

"Merlin save us."

Remus merely raised one eyebrow. "Somehow I rather doubt that Merlin will return to take care of this particular Dark Lord for us."

Both men grinned, the larger one speaking just a bit before his friend. "Who needs Merlin, when we've got 'arry Potter, eh? From wot I hear, 'e's been giving the Dark Tosser whot for for years now, eva' since 'e was a wee babe."

"I daresay you don't know the half of it," Remus said dryly. Despite Dumbledore's best efforts, he knew that rumors about at least some of Harry's exploits had seeped out over the years; this past summer had been the first time that someone had actively worked to control the press for Harry's benefit. "At any rate, yes; I believe that the Dark Lord has returned, the recent attack here is strong evidence of it. Which brings me to why I think you gentlemen wanted to speak with me," he finished, sitting there expectantly.

Both men looked flustered, then shared a series of looks before the larger one nudged the smaller.

"Basically, guv'nor, we'd like you to hire us," the smaller man said. "Oh, where are my manners? I'm Silas Cooper, this lout is Miles Sanderson," he said, making the introductions.

"Pleased," the larger man—Sanderson—said, nodding.

"Word's gotten out, in the communities," the smaller man went on, his voice low. Remus noticed that he had obliquely referred to the small packs of werewolves around the country. Being social creatures both as wolf and man, such groups were inevitable, Remus supposed. Unfortunately, he'd never found one that could replace the Marauders as his 'pack'; it was only in the last few months that he'd been really happy as his 'pack' came together.

The smaller man, Cooper, was still speaking. "The _Prophet's_ a bunch of rubbish, we all know that, but the other papers are saying the same thing: 'arry Potter's a Lord now, and 'e's sworn to use the cursed to rebuild Hogsmeade. You know what we are, guv'nor. All we ask is that you give us a chance to prove ourselves to you, and to 'is Lordship."

"I know a bi' ov carpen'ry, I do." Sanderson grinned. "Bit when I was jus' a lit'le knee-biter, I was, but m' Dah, 'e trained me up right good 'n prop'a, 'e did."

"Carpentry's my trade, too; leastways it was until two years ago, when I was cursed," Cooper went on. "Both of us'll work like house elves, if'n you'll give us 'alf a chance, sir," he said earnestly. Beside him, his friend nodded vigorously.

Remus sat back thinking furiously. His instincts were telling him to trust these men, but still….

"Gentlemen, I'm afraid that both of you might be here a bit prematurely. Yes, Lord Potter," he said, thinking that messages through Amos Diggory counted for that much, "has begun talking with the ministry about using the infected as part of the rebuilding of Hogsmeade. It's still very early, though, and I honestly can't say just when we'll start hiring. If you'll give me your names, and perhaps a floo address, I'll certainly contact you as soon as the details are worked out and we begin the actual hiring process."

Both men looked as though they had just heard the worst news of their lives.

"In other words, you'll call us…but you won't, will you? Sodding Ministry won't let you, in the end, will it?" the smaller man said bitterly.

"Now, Silas, I'm sure that 'arry Potter will work things out soon eno'," Sanderson said, putting an arm around his friend. "'ave to wait a bit, 's all. Thank ye fer yer time, guv'nor'" he said to Remus. His expression was anything but optimistic.

"Easy enough for you to say, you lump, but what about me family? I've got two kids to feed, and my Mary…" Cooper trailed off, the angst in his voice plain.

"Actually…" Remus said slowly, thinking furiously. He turned his head to the bar, where a moderately well lubricated Sirius Black was flirting outrageously with a grinning Madam Rosmerta. "Harry Potter's negotiations with the Ministry may take a bit, it's true. However…," he turned back. "I think I might know someone else who's in need of a pair of decent carpenters…especially ones that aren't afraid to get their hands dirty along the way."

"Mr. Lupin, sir, we'll do anything, anything at all, as long as it's 'onest work," Cooper said. "I've dug mor'n me share 'o ditches these last two year. All we ask is a chance," he finished.

"Gentlemen, don't leave just yet, if you would," Remus said. "I think I have someone you both need to meet." Waving his hand, he caught Madam Rosmerta's eye and gestured for her to send Sirius over. "I must tell you, though, the stories about him being a mass murderer are a bit exaggerated."

The looks on both men's faces just then were absolutely priceless.

* * *

Some time later, Sirius and Remus left The Three Broomsticks to return to London.

"You realize, Remus, that I'm depending on you to remind me to do the paperwork for those two," Sirius was saying. From the way he was weaving, it was a good thing that they weren't going to be apparating any time soon.

"Of course I know that, Sirius," Remus said, grinning as he took his friend's arm. "Don't worry; I'll have it all taken care of, all you'll have to do is sign it. And, I think that we'll both be pleased with the work that those two do."

"I blame my godson, of course. Him and his silly ideas," Sirius laughed, too long and too loud.

"Oh, and I suppose that it wasn't Sirius Black that insisted that Goodman Cooper bring his wife and children to Hogsmeade just as soon as possible. Or, who announced that he would be paying a good bit more than the going rate for laborers." Remus smiled, very pleased with Sirius' actions.

Sirius snorted. "'s just good business, 's all. Pay a man well; let him care for his family, and he'll be loyal to his dying day. Much better than using fear, I tell you. I should know, m' family's been doing it the wrong way for centuries." He paused, then veered off course so that only Remus' firm grip kept him from falling on his face in the mud. "'s also means that you'll have no trouble hiring, not for me or 'arry, will you?"

Remus shook his head, taking note of the fact that Sirius had just informed him that he, Remus, would be doing the hiring for both Lords in the future. "No, I don't suppose I will…especially if Harry agrees to pay the same rate you are," he said easily.

"Brat won't have a choice, now will 'e? Tries to do any less, an' all the best will come work for me! Ha! That'll teach the pup to mess with the Old Man, eh, Moony?" Once again, Sirius' laugh was far too loud, but it was truly happy.

"Oh, I'm sure that he'll take the lesson to heart, Padfoot, especially when you explain it to him just like that," Remus laughed as well.

"Oh, nonono, Moony! You're going to be the one to explain it to him, Mr. Senne…Scenach…Mr. Whatever You Are," Sirius insisted.

"Whatever you say, Padfoot," Remus sighed, as Sirius beamed. "Whatever you say."

Remus' answer must have pleased Sirius, because he began to sing. Fortunately, it was only a short walk back to the floo, and thence to London.

* * *

The Ministry's elves were busy that afternoon, delivering notice of the emergency meeting of the Wizengamot called for the next morning. Sadly, Sirius vomited on the tiny creature sent to him with the missive, but Remus put it to rights straight away (and Winky insisted that it have one of her scones before it left), so no harm done in the long run.

As they were nearby to each other, the same elf did double-duty for both Neville and Harry, both being notified because it would be the first opportunity each would have to formally claim his seat. Forewarned by Amos Diggory, they were spared the surprise that many others must have had. The only real inconvenience was that Harry spent the afternoon with Neville reviewing etiquette and protocol, rather than working with Cedric on their large mirror project. Harry was a bit put out by this, but Cedric took it with good grace.

"After all," he laughed, "it really is supposed to be mostly my project. I think that I can manage for one afternoon."

Harry pouted (which made Neville laugh at him), then shrugged and spent the day with his fellow Gryffindor. By that evening his head was spinning with names that he'd need to remember, alliances that he couldn't possibly remember, and the (fortunately very little) that he absolutely had to do and say during his investment.

Cedric noticed how distracted Harry was just before supper, so he pulled Tiffy aside for a whispered conference before they set off for the Great Hall and the evening meal. When they returned, Harry and Neville once again began reviewing Wizengamot rules and protocols, which Cedric let go on for almost an hour. Then, sighing, he closed the book he was reading and went to stand over the two younger men.

"Enough! You're boring me, and I've had it! Get up, both of you, it's time for dueling practice!"

Neville just raised one eyebrow at the tall Hufflepuff, while Harry shook his head. "Nope, it's too soon; we just ate," he said.

"Sorry, that was almost an hour ago, I've been watching the time. Now, get up," Cedric laughed, pulling Harry to his feet. "You too, Longbottom, I've got something to show you both."

Half-dragging Harry from the room, Cedric led them down the hallway to another door that hadn't been there before. It was on the same side of the hall as the 'hanger' room, and the door looked just the same. At Harry and Neville's questioning looks, Cedric pulled the door open and stepped through into the large room beyond it.

"Behold, our new training salle!" he said, stepping to the middle of the room and spinning around, his arms outstretched.

Gobsmacked, Harry and Neville entered the room. "Brilliant!" was Neville's response, while Harry only looked around curiously.

"This wasn't here when we went to eat, was it?" he asked carefully.

"Nope, I had the elves work on it while we were away. They made it, just like they opened up space for the carpet," Cedric was grinning like a loon. "I told Tilly about the training room we'd made at Number 12, and she contacted Winky, who came up and helped. It's got all of the same protections as we had before—or at least, it will have, once we finish adding them on—and Winky and Dobby will be bringing in equipment for us over the next few days. And stop looking at me like that, Potter," he said, giving his boyfriend a mock-glare. "Don't tell me we don't need it, or that we can't afford to furnish it, or some such rot!"

"No, it's not that," Harry grinned easily. Cedric knew him too well, and he found that he didn't mind that in the slightest. "I know we can afford it, and yes, we certainly need it…the problem is going to be when you have to tell Mad Eye that he's going to be working to bring this new room up to the standards of the other one. He'll be griping about that for weeks, and you know it!"

Cedric sighed theatrically. "You're right, of course. Still, I think that he, and Flitwick, too, will help out…once we tell them that we'll pay to refurbish and refurnish the school's old dueling classroom."

"I suspect that you're right about that," Neville grinned from one end of the room where he was looking at a small rack of storage lockers. "I'm also assuming that this room is open to any residents of the Lords Hall, and their guests?" he said carefully.

"And just why should I share my new dueling practice room with the likes of you, Longbottom?" Harry asked severely, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Oh, I don't know," Neville said casually. "Maybe because of…_this!_" he cried, throwing a static charge hex at Harry on the last word, then beginning to shield himself against the return strike.

"YEOWCH!" Harry shrieked as the tingle of shock washed over him, making his hair stand on end all over his body. "Oh, so that's how it's to be, eh, Longbottom?" he cried, returning a jelly legs jinx then rolling to one side just in time to dodge a beam of yellow light from Cedric's wand. "What? Two on one? No fair!"

"It's called free-for-all!" Cedric howled, turning the floor under Neville's feet sticky.

"Really? Oh, goody!" Neville laughed, leaping over the sticky area to a clean spot. A complicated twist and lift of his wand, along with a muttered word, gave Cedric the magical equivalent of an atomic wedgie.

From there, the dueling only went downhill…but it was an excellent exercise!

* * *

The next morning Harry woke up, cuddled his boyfriend, washed, dressed, ran a comb through his hair, used the puppy dog eyes on Cedric until he helped Harry tie his hair back, then joined Neville in the entryway to the Lords Hall in all of his Wizengamot finery to go to breakfast.

The two young Lords looked at each other, then broke out laughing at the spectacle they presented.

"Casual robes until we get there?" Neville asked. Harry snickered his assent, so each of them went back into their rooms, took off their plum robes, and threw on casual robes.

"What was that all about?" Cedric wanted to know, coming into Harry's room to see his boyfriend shrugging out of his Wizengamot robe.

"We decided that we looked ridiculous, and no way were we going to breakfast wearing these things," Harry said, putting his purple robe on a hanger and looking around for an obvious place to put it.

"I could have told you that," Cedric grinned. "I just thought that you and Longbottom wanted to make a statement."

Harry snorted. "The only statement these hideous things make is that our leaders are either color-blind, or have no fashion sense."

"Or both," Cedric agreed. "Here, wear this one," he said, reaching over Harry to pull a robe from the wardrobe. "The green piping matches your eyes, and no one can say anything about you showing up in casual black."

"Thanks," Harry answered, shrugging into the understated garment. "I may have to borrow your dad's office, just to have a place to drop this one off when we get there."

"Actually, I think that there's a robing room just for the members of the Wizengamot."

"Huh. Maybe they'll give me and Neville a tour or something, once we're formally seated."

"I'm sure there's a brochure. Merlin knows, there's a brochure for everything else in the Ministry." Cedric laughed. "Ask Dad."

"I will." Harry fussed with his ponytail for a moment before giving up and turning around. "Help?" he asked over his shoulder, trying to look pitiful.

Cedric didn't say anything, just smiled and helped sort out Harry's hair. Then, without being asked, he adjusted the shoulders and drape of the fine cloth, making sure that it fell properly. If he took a moment to admire the way Harry's shoulders were broadening, and just how well he wore the tailored robe, well…there wasn't anyone around to tell him that he couldn't.

"Thanks, Ced," Harry said, stepping away. "Ready for breakfast?"

"Ready," Cedric Diggory answered his boyfriend. It was going to be a good day; he could just feel it!

* * *

The trio that entered the Great Hall that morning was considerably less…visible than they might otherwise have been. Neville had chosen a plain gray dress robe, which was considerably nicer than his Hogwarts uniform and, like Harry's, suitable for almost any occasion short of a formal affair. Hannah waved them over to the Hufflepuff table, where a quick shuffle freed up seats for the boys.

"Well, I certainly feel underdressed now," Susan Bones grinned as Neville, Harry and Cedric took their seats. "What's the matter, Diggory? Why aren't you out of uniform this morning?"

"The twin prats here have to go into London…something about being seated in the Wizengamot, or some such rot," Cedric shrugged. "Fortunately, I get to stay here with you lot."

"Yes, more's the pity," Neville said in a patently false upper-class accent. "Lord Potter and I will be rubbing elbows with 'our' kind of people, while you lower classes are safely here, far away from us. Isn't that right, Lord Potter?"

"Oh, indubitably, Lord Longbottom," Harry answered in his own bad version of the same accent. He sniffed, lifting his nose into the air for effect. "It will be so refreshing, not having to endure the presence of the hoi poi."

"And they wonder why the Roundheads lopped the heads off so many nobles," Justin Finch-Fletchley snickered from down the table.

"Oh, I don't wonder at all," Hannah said. "Now, Lord Longbottom, pass the sausages, if your Lordship pleases."

"As m'Lady commands," Neville smiled, passing the platter as everyone laughed easily. Harry caught Neville's eye, and the two of them just shrugged. Everything just seemed so…easy…at that 'puff table; there was almost none of the grating, envious jibes they would have gotten among the Gryffindors.

Cedric noticed the silent communication and immediately realized just what it had to be about. "Stop it, you two," he said softly. "We're not the Gryffs. You're among us, and you're both practically 'puffs, anyway. Now, have some eggs, Lord Prat," he said loudly, slinging a loaded spoonful down on Harry's plate with a 'splat!'

"Oi! Mind the robe," Harry protested, flicking a miniscule speck of eggs from his front.

"Two words, Potter," yet another 'puff called from down the table. "Cleaning charms! Now, eat your eggs, you scrawny git! Diggory! You're not feeding him enough!"

Among the agreements, laughter and free advice on the care and (especially) feeding of boyfriends, Harry and Neville had a wonderful breakfast. Of course, it couldn't last.

"Ten points from Gryffindor—each—for being out of uniform at breakfast, Mr. Potter, Mr. Longbottom," a simpering, high-pitched voice came from behind Harry's back.

"Madam Umbridge," Neville said, standing from his place across the table. "As you must be aware, there is a meeting of the Wizengamot later today. Harry and I will be going into London, and it hardly seemed practical to be wearing our Wizengamot robes to breakfast."

"Neither you nor Mr. Potter have been seated as of yet, Mr. Longbottom," Umbridge simpered. "Until that time, it would be inappropriate for you to be assuming the privileges of that august body. Also, I fail to see why you should be taking your meals at this table, when your rightful place is at the Gryffindor table."

"They're here by my invitation," Hannah Abbott also stood. "It's not against the rules."

"No, but it is against the traditions of the school—traditions which, I might remind you, I have been sent here to encourage. In future, I think it would be best if we would all eat at our proper tables, now wouldn't it?" she finished, a saccharine grin splitting her toad-like face.

"Best for whom?" Cedric asked, turning in his seat. Even sitting down, he was almost on eye-level with the squat woman. "There's plenty of room here, and no one objects to them being here."

"Be that as it may, it's not appropriate. Now, I suggest that Mr. Potter and Mr. Longbottom move to their proper table immediately." The implied threat came through clearly.

"Is there a problem?" Professor Sprout seemed to appear from nowhere.

"This…she said that Harry and Neville have to eat at the Gryffy table from here on," Susan Bones spoke up.

"Oh? Why?" Pomona could be a master of brevity when the mood was upon her.

"The children are sorted into Houses for a reason, as you well know," Umbridge turned to the Herbology Professor, her little-girl voice dripping sweetness. "For centuries, their Houses have been their substitute family while they were here at Hogwarts. I would think that a Hufflepuff, of all people, would recognize the importance of that," she simpered.

"Certainly I'd never diminish the importance of the Houses, but I also know that the Houses aren't everything. After seven years, our students leave us to live in the real world, where they have to deal with all kinds of people, not just their housemates. Personally, I think that Mr. Potter and Mr. Longbottom are to be commended for taking the initiative in fostering inter-House cooperation. I think that ten points to Gryffindor—for each of them—should be an appropriate reward for their actions." Sprout smiled back at the Ministry Undersecretary calmly.

"Still, you must agree, both of them are out of uniform," Umbridge said, beginning to bridle.

"Yes, they are. However, I'd like to hear from them just why they've chosen to not wear their uniforms this morning, before making an arbitrary decision to dock points. Gentlemen?" the Professor turned to the table.

"Professor, Neville and I have to go into London after breakfast; we're being seated in the Wizengamot at the emergency session today," Harry explained. "Neither of us wanted to wear our formal robes to breakfast, and these seemed to be appropriate for traveling back and forth."

"I see. Well, that's perfectly understandable, Mr. Potter. I commend your common sense, the both of you. Carry on, then," she finished, turning back to the glaring woman in pink beside her. "So, there you have it, Delores. A perfectly good reason to be out of standard uniform, and invitations from members of my House," she stressed the possessive, driving her point home, "to sit with them, in the spirit of cooperation and unity. I find nothing amiss here, and I suspect that the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress would agree with me. Shall we go ask them?" she finished, giving her own saccharine grin.

"Some at the Ministry wouldn't see things in quite that light," Umbridge hissed.

"No doubt," Pomona Sprout agreed easily. "Still, there are quite a few former 'puffs at the Ministry that would agree with me, aren't there?"

"Yes," Umbridge nodded, clearly unhappy that her unspoken threats weren't having any effect on the Herbology professor.

"Well, now that's settled, I see no reason for us to bother these fine young people any longer. Mr. Diggory, I'd like to see you later this morning, in my office. Delores, shall we?" Pomona said, gesturing for Umbridge to precede her from the Hall. With a final glare at the Hufflepuff table that was returned with equal vigor by the irritated 'puffs, Umbridge waddled off, Pomona Sprout right behind her.

"Welcome to jolly old Hogwarts," Susan Bones said, grimacing. "What a wonderful year we'll have with her hanging about." Unfortunately, there wasn't anything that anyone could say differently.

* * *

Cedric escorted Harry and Neville, each of them carrying their shrunken Wizengamot robes in small packets to keep them neat, to the Headmaster's office. Surprisingly, he was quite pleasant and cooperative when they appeared and informed him that they would be attending the Wizengamot session that day.

"Wonderful! I'll be ready to go myself in a few moments, we can all floo together," was all that Dumbledore said before stepping out of his office to get his own robes. True to his word, he was back quickly. Cedric gave Harry's hand one last squeeze and left the Headmaster's office while Dumbledore was busy activating the floo. Having nothing better to do just then, he went straight to his Head's office.

Pomona Sprout maintained her regular office adjacent to her quarters in the Hufflepuff wing of the castle. She kept another, smaller office in Greenhouse three, but Cedric reasoned that she would have told him to come to the greenhouses if she had intended to be there.

Knocking on the door, he was pleased to hear the Professor's cheery voice calling for him to enter.

"Professor, it's me, Cedric Diggory," he announced himself, entering and closing the door behind him.

"Ah, come in, come in, Cedric," Sprout looked up from the paperwork on her desk. "Harry and Neville get off all right?"

"Yes, Ma'am, they flooed from the Headmaster's office just now."

"Was Albus with them?" Sprout asked.

Cedric nodded. "He was," the young man answered, sitting down in the chair his Head waved him to. "The Headmaster seemed to be in good spirits this morning," he added.

Pomona nodded, reading between the lines. "Very good. I have no doubt that Mr. Potter and Mr. Longbottom will be fine; their families have been watching each other's backs for longer than I care to think about."

Cedric nodded, hearing what the Professor was saying. The likelihood of Dumbledore trying anything dodgy was very small so long as Harry and Neville were together.

"Well, I'm certain that they'll have much to tell us about their first day in the Wizengamot when they return," Pomona smiled. "Assuming they don't nap through most of it, which is an even-odds bet right now. Most sessions tend to be about as exciting as watching ice melt."

"This one may be different," Cedric said. "We had a letter from my Dad yesterday," he went on, well aware that he now had Sprout's full attention. "Right after Harry, Neville and Sirius are seated, an emergency election will be held to select the new Chief Warlock. Then, assuming that a new Chief can be elected in just one day, there are a number of urgent matters that the Wizengamot has to address."

"And Sirius—Lord Black—will also be seated today?" Sprout asked, just to be certain she'd heard correctly. When Cedric nodded, she made a small note on the parchment in front of her. "Well, good; it's high time and past that he took the Black seat. Now, did your father say anything about who might be in the running for Chief Warlock?"

"Several people will be calling for Dumbledore to resume the seat," Cedric reported, as Sprout nodded in understanding. "There will be several other minor candidates, as you'd expect; Dad wasn't certain as to just who might actually be in the running. He sent us a list, and Harry and Neville have a copy they can refer to if they need it. Would you like to see it?" he asked.

Sprout smiled, shaking her head. "Thank you, no. I've already received several lists from different sources; by and large they're all quite similar.

"The Hufflepuff Conspiracy at work?" Cedric grinned as he asked.

"Yes, actually," Pomona grinned back. "What you've just told me confirms the information I've had from several other people; your father's information seems to be spot on. That's always nice to know, by the way; you've got a trustworthy source who can find out just what really is going on. I can't tell you how many times I've wished for someone like your father: a blood relative who's tied into the Ministry grapevine. That's a pearl beyond price, I hope you know! And, in case you ever need to see them, by this evening I'll have a copy of the transcript of the session. Just please don't let anyone know, the transcripts are supposed to be kept only in the Ministry."

"How about Harry and Neville?" Cedric asked carefully. "Can they be told?"

"If they have a need to know, then certainly," the Professor agreed. "But, I'd have to insist on an oath of confidentiality from each of them, you understand. As a 'puff, your own discretion and loyalty to the House…and the elements of our Conspiracy…are assumed," she went on. "Not that I mistrust Harry or Neville in any way, but," she shrugged. "They're not 'puffs."

Cedric nodded his understanding. "I agree. I don't think they'd have any problem with giving their oaths, if we needed to see the transcripts. But, as members, don't they have access to the official set?"

"Of course, but the official set is always in London, and there may be some emergency that comes up that none of us can foresee. I'd rather you knew about the copies here ahead of time, before you missed some opportunity just because you couldn't take the time to go haring off to London!"

Once more Cedric nodded. "Sensible. But, while we're talking about 'haring off', I think I need to tell you that from time to time Harry and I will be gone from the school for most of a day's time. Harry has been seeing a Healer in Paris, and he's about due for another appointment," Cedric explained.

"Paris?" Sprout was a bit surprised to hear that. "Why not St. Mungo's, or even Poppy Pomphrey?" she asked. Then, quickly, "if you feel comfortable telling me, of course."

"It's really not that big of a secret, except that we…I…wanted Harry seen by someone who wouldn't be likely to be under the influence of certain British wizards," Cedric said. He grimaced as he said the last bit, making Pomona's eyebrows rise. "We've been quite pleased with the care that he's received in Paris, and have no desire to change Healers at this time," he finished.

"Nor should you have to," the Professor smiled. "If you've found a Healer that you trust, and you're satisfied with him or her, then by all means, continue on with them. I'm assuming that you have a way to get to Paris and back in a single day without having to fly on brooms?" Her last question was almost more of a statement.

"We do," Cedric said. "No, it's not a portkey, or long-distance apparition. It is also completely legal in Britain; there's no worrying about that!"

Sprout chuckled. "Some other kind of magical transport, then? Well, fine, as long as the Ministry won't come bursting in here looking for contraband carpets." At Cedric's sideways glance, her voice sharpened. "It's not a carpet, is it?"

"Technically, it's an aerial-capable portable wizarding residence mounted on a faux-Persian chassis," Cedric blushed, and then grinned. "Okay, it's a tent on a flying carpet…but the tent makes it legal!" he insisted.

The Head of House Hufflepuff sat there for a moment, stunned. Then, she burst out laughing.

"A tent…on a flying carpet? And that makes it legal?" she repeated, giggling. "Well, Cedric, I'll take your word for it, so long as I get to see it at the earliest opportunity. Also, I think it'd probably be a good idea to show Minerva and Filius, at the very least. That way, if there's ever a question about it, you can honestly say that all three of us—the Deputy Headmistress, your Head of House, and your future Master were all aware of it."

Cedric nodded. "We can do that. Mad-Eye already knows about it; he's been to Paris with us in the thing."

"Oh, now I'm jealous," Sprout was still giggling. "You owe me a ride, you know that."

"Would you like it today?" Cedric smiled back.

"Sadly, no. I've got to grade all of the assignments that I've put the second and third years to, then come up with something else to keep them busy for the next few days." Pomona shook her head ruefully. "Hopefully, the Wizengamot will do something productive today, so that we can get the school back to something approaching normal circumstances."

Cedric didn't know what to say to that, so he just shrugged.

Sprout returned his nod, then went on. "Perhaps, in a week or two, you could take some of the faculty for a quick spin around the grounds. Would that be too inconvenient?"

Cedric thought for a second. While he wasn't too keen on Dumbledore finding out any of his secrets, this was one that was going to come out sooner rather than later. It might just be best to make it an announcement and offer rides rather than do nothing and be accused of hiding the carpet at a later date.

"I don't think so," Cedric said, still thinking furiously. "Maybe in a week or two, after the Hogsmeade refugees are out of the castle."

"I think that would be a very good time," Sprout agreed. "As a general rule, I dislike having to have secrets from all and sundry; with something completely legal like this, I see no reason not to go ahead and make it public knowledge. It's bound to be discovered sooner or later, and if it looks like you were trying to keep it a secret, then they'll be all manner of brouhaha over the thing."

"That was what I was thinking," Cedric said. "I really don't want to have to give rides to the entire student population, but the faculty should be manageable." And they'll never, ever find out about some of the more 'non-standard' features that the Americans managed to put on it, either, he thought to himself.

"Nor should you have to," Sprout said firmly. "While I'm certain that virtually every student in the castle will want a tour of the coastline, you're not responsible or obligated to do any such thing. For those of your friends that you want to show it off to, I'd suggest that you schedule a time on a weekend when one of the faculty can be with you as a chaperone and escort. That should take care of any difficulties that might arise with…certain parties," she finished, raising one eyebrow to convey a bit of extra meaning.

"We can do that," Cedric smiled, nodding. "Mad-Eye, at least, should be more than willing to help out with that. He's, well, mad about the thing."

Pomona Sprout giggled like a schoolgirl at the thought of the scarred old Auror being mad about any flying contraption. "Oh, that I'll have to see for myself!"

"I think the problem will be keeping Mad-Eye off the carpet when we finally open it up for general viewing," Cedric snickered. "You may have to fight him for a place!"

"Well, then, it's a good thing that I've got a few tricks that even Alastair Moody hasn't seen yet," Sprout said, her eyes twinkling. "I'll look forward to that day, Cedric."

For a few moments the pair just sat there, enjoying thoughts of pleasant times yet to come. Then, the Herbologist gave herself a small shake, and her expression darkened.

"The reason I wanted to speak to you today is to give you a warning, Cedric. I want you to pass it on to whoever it might affect, but please don't tell anyone who told you." She paused until she saw that Cedric understood, then continued. "Delores Umbridge is a danger, to everyone here at Hogwarts. This morning's little drama in the Great Hall is only a sample of the kind of pettiness the woman is capable of, and there will be only so much that I, or the rest of the faculty, can do to mitigate the damage she'll cause. The toad," she said, grimacing along with her student, "has the ear of the Minister…and several other body parts, if the rumors are to be believed." She paused while she and Cedric both made faces at _that_ particular mental image. "She was sent here for the express purpose of exerting Ministerial control over the school, and probably to get Dumbledore sacked, along with as many of the faculty as she can manage! Given how high a profile you and your betrothed have kept up over the summer—and that you've directly disagreed with the Minister on several issues—that also makes you, and especially your Mr. Potter, high priority targets for her."

Sprout paused, collecting her thoughts. When she went on, she was as serious as Cedric had ever seen the normally jovial Professor. "I cannot emphasize this enough: Umbridge is dangerous! She doesn't have a formal position at the moment, but I'll be shocked if that doesn't change within the next two weeks, at the most. I have no idea what it might be; the situation is without precedent, but given everything else that's going on in our world…." She trailed off, shaking her head.

"We'll be careful," Cedric reassured his Head of House.

Pomona Sprout nodded once, her eyes steady. Then, she sighed, forcing a change in topic.

"Yes, well...that was really all I had to see you about. I have spoken briefly with Professor Flitwick about some adjustments to your schedule this year. I don't see any problems in assisting him from time to time, and I think you'll find yourself enjoying it quite a bit. He did ask me to have you drop by his office when you finish here, so if you would I'd be grateful."

"Thank you, Professor, I'll go there straightaways." Cedric rose, recognizing a dismissal. "If there's nothing else..?"

"No, that's all," Sprout smiled. "Have a good day, Mr. Diggory."

She was still smiling after Cedric left, thinking about just what a fine man he was growing into.

**A/N: ** I know, it's been far too long! Real Life is SO the curse of the fanfiction class! But, after multiple computer meltdowns, enough drama for a soap opera and a move across the continent to California (!), here's the latest installment. I've lost track of how many times this chapter has been recovered/resurrected/rewritten/re-edited; finally I just decided to throw it up and move on. Hopefully, there aren't too many errors in it.

Thanks to all of you who have reviewed; I haven't been able to respond to all reviews individually but they are all read. Also, thanks to all of you who encouraged me to update this story; those messages at least kept my guilt on 'low simmer', despite the lure of the PS3 (EVIL BOX! EVIL!). And yes, I've started on the next chapter, as well as some bits for later in the story. No, it won't be another four months before I update again. I hope.

For those of you who have missed it, I've started a story called "The Bits Box" (see my profile), which is a collection of shorts and stuff. Also, my story 'Harry Potter and the Alternative Tournament' has been very well received. I hope that, if you're a fan of my Harry/Cedric stuff you'll give it a look.

I'm not certain if the system will allow me to respond to reviews now or not; rest assured, I read every one (and the flames make me cry *pouts*). Also, no reviews make the author cry. So, please don't make the author cry.

**Next Chapter: **A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Wizengamot.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N:** Cedric has some alone time; Harry gives him an update on the Wizengamot. Various other characters put in appearances, and the story moves forward. This is unbeta'd and a bit rushed; I've got several other projects that **must** be done in the next couple of weeks, and I wanted to get this up now rather than wait another two months to update. I promise you, I am trying hard.

**Disclaimer:** no ownership or profit is being claimed or made by this fic.

**Chapter 14**

Cedric spent an enjoyable day with first Professor Flitwick and then Professor Moody. As he'd promised, he went straight from Professor Sprout's office to Flitwick's. The Charms Professor wanted to see how far he had come on his large communication mirror project, as well as generally check up on him.

Flitwick was quite pleased with Cedric's work on his project. He had initially considered using conjured or transfigured mirrors, but rejected this as he considered that starting with an unaltered item would make the enchanting both easier and more stable. He had begun working some of the equations to demonstrate this, which the Charms Master promised to review and return to him.

Flitwick was a bit surprised when Cedric told him about the new dueling salle that had been added to the Lords Hall. Of course, that led to an impromptu trip to the room, followed by a quick summons to Mad Eye Moody to join them there.

"Well, this does look familiar," was Mad Eye's comment. "I was wondering just what you'd come up with, between you and the other. Yessir, this'll do just fine."

With Flitwick's help, the room was warded and shielded in the space of a single afternoon.

"Now, we've only got to restore the old Dueling Room, and we're set," Flitwick said happily when they were done. "I should feel quite bad to go to this much work for only a small group of students, and leave the rest without."

"Oh, we'll get there," Mad Eye growled. "If nothing else, we'll nick Potter's coin purse and then do the spellwork ourselves before anyone's the wiser."

"And just who would that 'anyone' be?" Cedric asked easily.

"Never you mind," Moody grinned.

* * *

Cedric was relaxing on the couch in Harry's sitting room when the Lord Potter himself—looking considerably the worse for wear—came in.

"If I NEVER have to go through that again, it will be too soon!" Harry proclaimed, staggering over to sit beside his amused boyfriend.

"Bad day?" Cedric guessed.

Harry's only reply was to make a 'hurmphing' sound and throw himself back on the couch, slouching against Cedric's side.

Cedric chuckled, and let Harry have a moment to relax. He knew that he'd get the full story eventually, but he'd learned to read Harry pretty well in the months they'd spent together.

Finally, Harry spoke.

"The investiture wasn't bad. It was only Neville, Sirius and I; there were no objections to any of us taking our seats. We had to stand down front and repeat the stupid oath—good thing it's not a binding magical contract, the 'serve and defend the Wizarding World with honesty and integrity part' would have killed off most of them long ago—and then take our seats for the first time."

"Then, it got crazy. The first thing was to elect a new Chief Warlock, and we spent a couple of hours arguing over just how and when it could be done. Finally, Dumbledore took effective control, stated for the final time that he wasn't interested in the job, and moved that an emergency election be held immediately."

"Dumbledore didn't take back his old seat, then?" Cedric asked.

"No, but when he nominated Sturgis Podmore it was pretty much over. By that time, I was glad to see him do something. No wonder the Government seems so confused all the time, if that's our leadership!"

"So, Dumbledore's nominee is now the Chief Warlock?" Cedric clarified.

"Interim Chief Warlock, until a regular election can be held not less than three weeks but not more than three months from now," Harry answered in a sing-song voice that let Cedric know he was quoting something.

"And then?"

"And then, the Minister announced that he was accepting all of the foreign offers of assistance for the Hogsmeade disaster, and asked the Wizengamot to release the Emergency Fund."

"You say that like there were problems."

Harry sighed. "There were those who questioned the foreign offers; Fudge presented it as one great big magical cooperative effort. That led to the question of whether or not Voldie's really back; Fudge hemmed and hawed and finally announced that he was creating a commission to 'investigate the matter'."

"Well, that's something, I suppose," Cedric murmured, moving his hand so that he could play with Harry's hair.

"It's more than he's said before, which is a good first step," Harry agreed. "He didn't say when this commission would be reporting back to him, but everyone expects it to be soon."

"Mmmm." Cedric's noise of agreement was soft.

"Oh, I haven't gotten to the best part yet," Harry half-laughed. "Someone, I forget who, brought up the topic of werewolves working in Hogsmeade. That turned into 'let's all debate Lord Potter's sanity' for the better part of an hour."

"And what did they decide?" Cedric teased gently.

"Pfft. Nothing." Harry snorted. "Neville finally reminded me that I could call witnesses, so I called in Remus and let them grill him."

"You put a known werewolf before the Wizengamot?" Cedric gasped.

"Sure, why not? After all, he's my Seneschal, isn't he? I pay him to work out the bloody details, and then spill said details on command."

"But...when you two talked last night, on the mirrors...I thought that nothing had been decided as of yet; the two of you were still looking at different options." Cedric's distress was enough to make his hand go still in Harry's hair.

Harry immediately noticed. "More fingers on scalp, thank you very much. Oh, don't worry, Remus did fine. In fact, I think he may have charmed a few of them over to our side. He told about being bitten as a child, and the others like him who are victims of Fenrir Greyback's rampages; how most of them are good, decent folk who only want to live normal lives. Sirius has apparently already hired two to begin work on his place there in Hogsmeade, so Sirius had his turn on the floor, too."

"So, what did they decide?"

"Decide? Only to let 'Potter's Folly' play out, at which time they can demand that I be shipped off to Azkaban for life, or something."

"WHAT?" Cedric sat bolt upright at that, jarring Harry out of position.

"Oh, calm down, Ced," Harry groused, irritated that he'd lost his comfortable spot. "It's just how things work, apparently. If we pull this off, then the Wizengamot can claim that they supported me all along. If it fails, then it's my head on the block. Business as usual," he shrugged.

Cedric shook his head. He'd known what would probably happen, but hearing Harry say it so coldly...he didn't have to like it.

"So, what other miracles did the Wizengamot work today?" he asked, desperate for a change of subject.

"Not a lot. A small increase in funding for the Aurors was approved; Madam Bones' request for a larger increase was denied."

"Any particular reason?" Cedric was calming down, the normal stupidity of the Wizengamot having a therapeutic effect on him.

"They'll wait to hear from Fudge's committee first, or so they said," Harry sighed, shifting so that he could lie back and pull Cedric down on top of him.

"Typical," Cedric answered, coming easily into Harry's arms. "Do nothing until a crisis occurs, then overreact."

"I'm just happy that we've gotten their stamp of approval to move forward with using the weres as a labor force in Hogsmeade. Later on, if Madam Bones can get the funding for a separate Auror office in Hogsmeade, I'll support her."

Cedric rolled around, getting comfortable. "Was that what she asked for?"

"Among other things," Harry said, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend. "She got most of the extra Aurors she wanted to add, so she's not terribly put out."

"Did she say anything about your wand?" Cedric asked quietly, taking Harry's hand in his own.

"We didn't have a chance to speak in private," Harry answered. "Neville and I wound up staying together out of necessity, because every member had to come and shake our hands. I haven't had a moment's rest since I left this morning; not even in the loo."

"The loo?" Cedric couldn't help but chuckle.

"Apparently a great deal of the Wizengamot's work is done at the urinals," Harry's voice was dry.

"You're joking," Cedric snickered.

"Actually, no," Harry sighed. "The debate just keeps on going."

"Now that, I didn't really need to know," Cedric sighed.

"You aren't the only one," Harry agreed.

* * *

The only other item of importance from the Wizengamot had been Delores Umbridge's appointment to the newly-created position of Hogwarts High Inquisitor. Despite opposition from Dumbledore (as well as Harry, Neville and Sirius), Fudge had managed to corral enough votes to pass the bill, which contained Educational Decree 23, creating the position of High Inquisitor. In what was described as a move to 'protect our children', the Ministry flunky—appointed to the position only moments after the bill passed—would now have status equal to that of a Professor. She would, in theory, answer to the Headmaster, but also to the Minister equally. Her portfolio was rather vague, but Fudge assured the Wizengamot that she would only have a 'very limited' role in the day-to-day process of the school's operations. She was there 'only to observe and report back', to be 'vigilant for signs of Dark influences', and to 'assist the faculty and staff whenever possible."

Cedric told Harry what Sprout had shared with him, and Harry only agreed.

"It's too convenient, Ced," he said. "Mad Eye beats her to one post, so Fudge creates her another one, just like that. Does he think we're so blind we can't see that she's a plant?"

"More that he doesn't care, so long as she's here, I should think," Cedric answered. "We need to be extra careful around her...I know, I know, even more than we are now," he groused, hearing Harry's sigh behind him. "We'll manage. And, we'll just do a lot of what needs doing in the open, and let her squeal to Fudge all she wants." The Hufflepuff went on to tell Harry about his conversation with Sprout that morning, and her suggestions about making the faculty aware of their transport.

"Rides around the lake for the faculty isn't a bad idea," Harry said. "Since I've got a valid medical reason to need the carpet here, it shouldn't be too much of an issue. If it comes to it, we take it to the Board and let them decide."

"Knowing that the Board will almost certainly back the Boy Who Lived over the Headmaster," Cedric snickered.

"Something like that," Harry snickered back. "So, you got Flitwick and Moody to finish the wards on the salle. How did that go?"

"Quite well, actually. It was a treat to see the two of them working together. They were able to get it finished in a few hours, so it's ready to use at any time."

"Not tonight," Harry grumped. "Not even if Voldie's coming to call tomorrow morning for breakfast."

"All right," Cedric grinned, giving Harry's hand a squeeze. "How about a shower, and then a soak in the hot tub?"

Harry momentarily froze, then hissed dangerously in Cedric's ear. "A Japanese-style hot tub?"

"Umm...maybe?"

"Diggory..."

"Honestly, love, I haven't been holding out on you! I might have mentioned to Winky about how much you loved the baths in Japan, and I guess that Tiffy overheard, and..."

"So now you have a Japanese-style tub in your rooms. You realize that I now have an official reason to bathe in your suite, don't you?" Harry asked.

"Oh? And why would that be, when you have a perfectly adequate shower all of your own?" Cedric smirked, knowing he was living dangerously and loving it.

"I'll show you 'perfectly adequate'!" Harry pounced, and the tickle fight was on!

Oddly enough, the fight continued that very evening in Cedric's brand new bath.

* * *

Lord Voldemort pulling himself out of the pensive and leaned back in his chair, a neutral expression on his face.

He'd always preferred to review actual memories of the Wizengamot whenever he could; fortunately, there were several sympathizers who were all too willing to send copies of their memories of the event. He'd searched—unsuccessfully-for a spell to allow him to combine several memories of the same event. He'd been hoping to be able to create a multidimensional pensive experience that would let him pick up on details that a single memory would often lack. As it was, he had been able to alter a pensive to play single memories at greatly increased speed, but that was about as far as he had pushed the magical device.

Oh well...he supposed that after a few centuries, he'd need little conundrums like that to keep him occupied.

"My Lord?" Pettigrew simpered from somewhere around Voldemort's ankles. "Could I offer you some refreshment? Perhaps a nice cup of tea...?"

"_Crucio!_"

Voldemort held the curse for a count of three, then released it. "Yes, Pettigrew, tea would be lovely. Also, some biscuits and scones, with butter and jam, strawberry if we have it," he said in a normal voice. Really, he thought as Pettigrew scurried away, I simply must develop a better punishment spell one of these days. After all, he had been using the same old pain curse for years; it was almost _pro forma_ with him. Witness how easily Pettigrew had recovered just now! All right, he reassured himself, he really hadn't put his heart into it, but still...didn't that make his own argument stronger?

Pleased to have won himself over purely on the strength of his own logic, Voldemort turned his thoughts back to the Wizengamot session he'd just seen from the third point of view.

The investiture of the Lords Black, Longbottom and Potter had been expected, and he welcomed all three. The additional status that the new Lords Wizengamot carried would make his destruction of them all the more difficult for the sheeple of the wizarding world to bear.

He was a bit surprised that the Old Man had refused to retake the Chief Warlock's slot. If he'd needed any more confirmation that Dumbledore was up to something, that was it. The power-hungry old bastard had obviously pulled the strings to get his crony installed in his place. It had been one of the more likely scenarios he'd anticipated, and the Dark Lord had told his supporters to put up only the usual token opposition to what the Old Coot's crowd were supporting. Now was not the time to actively push someone like, say, Parkinson for the job; that would come later. For now, it was basically immaterial who held the gavel, so long as the Ministry's official position was that he was still dead.

Of course, that wouldn't last, nor should it. Fudge's new Commission would almost certainly see to that; he'd need to speak with Lucius about just when to have the commission make their final report. A few weeks ought to be time and enough, for him to make the appropriate arrangements.

He was a bit concerned about Fudge's sudden decision to accept the offers of foreign aid. He'd expected the man to once again refuse to do anything which might make him seem weak, or imply that Great Britain couldn't manage her own affairs without assistance. The abrupt reversal of the Minister's usual stance had Dumbledore written all over it. Obviously, the Old Coot was leveraging the fact that it was his castle the refugees were currently sheltering in; Voldemort knew full well just what a strain that would be on Hogwarts' resources. He'd briefly contemplated a second strike against the castle itself, while Dumbledore and his minions would be stretched thin; the fact that the castle's wards were still at full strength had stayed his hand.

Thin, lizard-like lips pursed as the Dark Lord considered just how to work this new situation to his favor. Perhaps a strike against the relief forces? Each country was bound to send a small detachment of workers with their supplies. Kill them, and send a message back that it might be prudent to leave the UK alone? Given how hard Fudge had actively worked to alienate almost every other Ministry on the planet, that would almost certainly be how such an act was perceived.

And as for the werewolves? Well, he reminded himself to speak with Greyback at the earliest possible time...

"Master? I'm afraid that all we have is orange marmalade, or fig jelly..." Pettigrew carefully set the tray with the tea set and assorted pastries on the table beside his master.

"_Crucio!_"

* * *

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office, sipping firewhiskey and humming to himself. Yes, it had been a good day in the Wizengamot, as such things went. Oh, how he'd savored the pleas for him to take up the gavel of Chief Warlock once more; almost as much as he'd enjoyed the looks of despair and fear as he, once more, refused. He knew full well that most of those who were bleating the loudest today had also bleated loudly for his removal only a few days before; now let them stew in their own juices!

Sturgis was an old crony from years back; he'd do exactly as Albus 'suggested' without asking any bothersome questions or wanting unnecessary explanations. It was the next best thing to having the job himself—better, even, in some ways, because now he had the control he needed without any of the bad press or stress of having to make nice-nice with that great pack of fools.

A part of him wondered just why had hadn't done this years ago. Ah, well; he supposed that he'd enjoyed his trifecta of titles too much to give one up. Besides, now that he didn't have to concentrate so much of his time on those damned Peruvians in the ICW (and where, by the way, were THEIR offers of aid to stricken Hogsmeade?), he could concentrate on running the war against Tom from this very office. Hogwarts always had been, and always would be, the seat of his power. So, let the Peruvians play their little games—and perhaps, now would be the time to send a suggestive owl or two to various friends in other parts of the world with his 'concerns' about the 'new direction' the ICW was taking—and let Sturgis take the heat in his new job. He, Albus Dumbledore, was still Headmaster of the most revered school of magic in the world! And, from here, he would tirelessly work for the Greater Good.

Pity that most of the sheeple wouldn't see it that way. Oh well, that's why they were the sheep, and he was their leader.

Let Cornelius think he'd won a victory by having his toady named 'High Inquisitor' of his school. Delores Umbridge was a horrible person in so many ways, he couldn't wait to see just what kind of trouble she'd be stirring up. As things stood now, he could only stand by and observe as she tormented his students and faculty alike. Then, when she finally overextended herself—as she inevitably would—he would be there to see her carried from his school in defeat and shame. Preferably in shackles, too; now that he thought about it.

Yes, it had been a good day at the Wizengamot for one Albus Dumbledore.

* * *

In her office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Delores Umbridge smiled nastily as she read—for the fourteenth time—the letter which conferred upon her the office of Hogwarts Chief Inquisitor. It described her mandate as one to "observe and when necessary, correct, the proceedings and processes of instruction at our most revered institution of learning", to "uphold the highest and best traditions of British wizarding education", and on in that vein for some three paragraphs.

Reading between the lines, Delores recognized the position for what it could become, with just a bit of effort and a few select 'decrees' from dear Cornelius: a license to bring the entire school very sharply to heel!

And then, once she had Hogwarts firmly under her control, she could proceed as she and Cornelius had so often discussed. No longer would Albus Dumbledore be looked to as the de facto leader of the British wizarding world, oh no! No, that position would rightly be accorded to her dear Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic.

Of course, as his most trusted deputy, Delores wouldn't be forgotten, either...

Had anyone been there to here, her titter of laughter might have sounded just a touch mad just then.

* * *

The next morning, Harry and Neville decided to sit at the Gryffindor table, leaving Cedric "to fend for himself" amongst the "Hufflepuff Hordes".

Snickering, Cedric bumped his boyfriend's shoulder and peeled off from the two Lords as they entered the Great Hall.

Of course, there was no shortage of animosity at the Gryffindor table as the pair approached.

"Oi, look who's going to join us today! It's the two Lords themselves!" Deans's voice carried loudly over the usual noise of people at breakfast.

"So, Harry! You slumming today, or what?" Ron demanded, making no move to make any room for Harry or Neville on the bench beside him.

"Honestly, Ron, they have every right to be here. Harry, Neville, sit with me," Hermione chastised, shifting over a bit. "So, how was your first session of the Wizengamot?" the bushy-haired girl demanded.

"Horribly boring, for the most part," Harry answered, most of his attention on how he was going to get the bowl of scrambled eggs away from Ron.

Neville just shrugged. "Not nearly as exciting as you'd think, Hermione," he half-smiled.

"Oh, I can't believe that! After all, there must have been some very exciting debate as to what had to be done vis a vis the Chief Warlock's position..." Hermione said all in a rush.

"And I'm sure that you can read all about it in the _Prophet_," Neville said agreeably. "Personally, having to listen to it once was quite enough for me."

"Here, here," Harry harrumphed, which made both he and Neville dissolve into giggles.

Fortunately for both of them, Hermione's impending rant was cut off by the arrival of the morning post, including Hermione's copy of the _Daily Prophe_t. So, instead of a tongue-lashing, Neville and Harry only had to endure her own snort of disdain before she dived into the paper.

Hermione's concentration on the_ Prophe_t, along with the rest of the Gryffindor's general apathy towards the subject gave Harry and Neville a few minutes to eat undisturbed. A few shared glances and an eye roll were all the commentary that either of them have for the general snubbing that most of their housemates were giving them. Naturally, Ron muttered under his breath the entire time, but neither Neville or Harry really cared enough about his whingings to pay any attention to him.

Just as Harry was finishing, Hermione gasped, her head spinning to look at the Head Table just as Dumbledore rose and cleared his throat.

"If I could have your attention, please," the Headmaster began. "By now, several of you will have read in this morning's paper that Madam Umbridge as been appointed to a new position here at Hogwarts." Dumbledore paused long enough to give a small nod to the hideous woman in pink before continuing. "My understanding is that she is to observe our regular goings-on here at Hogwarts and then report back to both the Minister and myself. During this period, she will be accorded the rank of Professor, so please address her accordingly. Also, she will be able to take points and assign detentions just as if she were a regular member of the faculty."

Dumbledore paused once more, sipped from his cup, and smiled out at the students. "I'm confident that Madam Umbridge will have nothing but good things to say about all of you," he said, eyes twinkling madly. "Also, I'm please to report that Minister Fudge has agreed to accept our neighboring country's offers of assistance. This means that hopefully within the next few days, our refugees will be able to leave the castle for more suitable accommodations while Hogsmeade is being rebuilt. I'm sure that you are all as eager as I to return to a normal class schedule." Ignoring the groan that answered him, he sat and sipped his tea once more.

"Honestly, Harry; you could have told me about that woman being appointed High Inquisitor of Hogwarts!" Hermione snapped.

"Mmm, yeah, I could have," Harry agreed, chewing his eggs carefully. "But, you wouldn't have believed me until you read it in the paper or heard it from Dumbledore, so where's the point?"

"Too true, old man," Neville nodded sagely.

"Indubitably."

"Wouldn't have been cricket either."

"No, not cricket not a'tall," Harry smirked at Neville, the two of them working their bad accents for all they were worth.

Hermione's snort made it all worthwhile, especially when she snapped her paper up, cutting both of their smirks off from her view. Harry and Neville exchanged winks.

At the Head Table, Madam Umbridge stood to make some remarks, only to stop abruptly as both Mad Eye and Snape stood abruptly. Immediately, Sprout, Flitwick and Vector also stood, followed by the remainder of the staff other than the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress. Within seconds Umbridge found herself standing alone as the students also began getting up to leave the Hall.

"Well!" Delores spat, before taking her seat once more. "I like that!" she finished, looking at the departing students furiously.

"Oh, did you want to say something, Delores dear?" McGonagall asked sweetly. "I think you'll find that if you have any morning announcements to make, it's best to make them early. Albus has trained our students quite well that any announcements from him always come just as the meal is ending.

"Quite right, Minerva, quite right," Dumbledore nodded, smiling. "That way even the dawdlers have a chance to be informed. I believe that I learned the trick from Headmaster Fortescue's portrait."

"I...I was merely going to inform the children that they should see me in the halls and in their classes from time to time," Umbridge sputtered a bit as she tried to recover.

"I shouldn't worry, Madam," Dumbledore said, rising to leave himself. "I daresay that they will not be at all surprised to see you."

"Not unless they're bloody color blind," McGonagall groused as she too left the table.

* * *

Despite the Headmaster's announcements, the next few days were generally unexciting. Nothing more was said about the castle's extra residents going anywhere, and the students were still confined to their dormitories except for meal times. There had been a certain amount of grumbling as the teachers kept piling on more and more assignments, but no more than might be expected. Madam Pomphrey did see a modest rise in hex-related injuries in all of the houses, but so far it wasn't anything that she or the Prefects couldn't handle.

Harry and Cedric spent most of their time writing essays, and not nearly enough (or so Harry frequently complained) using the dueling room or going over new spells from their laptops, or researching any of the hundred and one things that they desperately needed to be looking into to; how to rig a fireplace to divert an unwanted floo traveller to some other destination, just to name one example. Neville occasionally joined them, but he spent most of his time going through Harry's and Cedric's gift to Pomona Sprout. The Herbologist had come to him with her box of Japanese seeds and cuttings, and the two of them had been working on plans for the new greenhouses that Harry had promised to build.

Determined to get the trip in before they resumed a normal class schedule, Cedric and Harry took the carpet to Paris one morning, slipping out of the castle under the carpet's built-in concealing charms without incident. The trip went quite well; Dr. Latour pronounced himself satisfied at the rate that Harry's blocks were dissolving themselves, and told him to continue only with one sip of a 'regular' nutrient potion every morning. He compared it to a muggle vitamin tablet, and told Harry that he expected even that to not be needed in another few months.

The pair met the Delacours for ice cream, dropped in to say hello to Little Jacques, and were back at Hogwarts in time for the evening meal.

In the Great Hall, Hermione was the only one who seemed to have noticed that the pair had missed lunch. Fortunately, she believed Harry's explanation that they were working on a project for Cedric's Charms apprenticeship, and lost track of the time.

Hermione had only sniffed, made a comment about how he shouldn't be skipping meals, and gone back to her Arithmancy text.

Of course, it wasn't all work and no play. Along with the studying and dueling practices had been a fair amount of cuddling time, with just a bit of snogging mixed in for variety.

Sadly, Cedric's 'absolutely we will both be wearing bathing suits while in the hot tub' rule only lasted only long enough for him to become drowsy from the heat. Since Harry never took off his bracelets—the things had been designed and charmed by Little Jacque LeGrande to be practically indestructible to start with, and then Harry had found a technique on his laptop to imbue magical foci with addition protections tied straight into his core—a little soap and hot water presented no risk at all.

Harry and Cedric had quickly mastered the protective ability once Harry had discovered it in a file marked "Very Useful". Basically, it involved wrapping a small bit of one's magical core around your own personal wand or other item, and then 'pinching off' that tiny bit of energy in such a way that it remained bound to the magical core of the wand. Since the energy would be quickly replenished, it was a very safe thing to do; that the two bits of core energy would always be magically connected meant that it was even more difficult for another wizard to use your wand. The fact that it made the wand (or Harry's bracelets) virtually indestructible was only a happy side effect of the process. In short, for the paranoid wizard who always felt better showering with his wand, it was the perfect charm.

That it would also come as a rude surprise to anyone who managed to snatch Cedric's wand or Harry's bracelets (or LeGrande wand) away to either use or destroy them...well, that would just be too bad for them!

Since neither Harry nor Cedric were truly paranoid—Voldemort WAS out to get them, along with other parties as of yet unknown—keeping bracelets on and wands near even while in the hot tub was Standard Operating Procedure.

The end result was that Cedric was enjoying his soak when his boyfriend joined him and took his own seat a very proper and respectable distance away on the far side of the tub. This distance slowly melted away until Harry was sitting in Cedric's lap...and then someone wordlessly vanished both of their suits.

"Harry!" Cedric yelped as the contact between them suddenly became much more personal. "Put those back!"

"Put what back?" Harry answered, the most innocent expression he could manage plastered across his face. Then, he wiggled just a bit, and smirked. "Oh, the suits? No, I don't think so."

Cedric sputtered, suppressed a moan when Harry wiggled again, and reached for his wand. "Harry..." he began, only to be cut off by Harry's lips on his. "Mmmpgh."

"Mmmmph."

"Mmharrmmh."

"What?"

"Harry, we're both naked."

"Yeah, I kind of noticed that. Nice, isn't it?" The Gryffindor was smirking, his green eyes flashing.

Cedric pulled him down for another kiss, then released him. "Yes, it is," he sighed. "But the fact remains that you're still only fifteen, and I can't forget that."

Harry shifted slightly to a more comfortable position. "I know, and as much as it irks me, it's also one of the reasons I love you," he said. "So, there are things that we're not going to do right now. Snogging naked in the hot tub is NOT one of those things." Leaning forward, Harry captured Cedric's lips once more.

Faced with the inevitable, Cedric sighed and gave in.

He supposed that he could always deal with the guilty conscience later. Assuming, of course, he remember to feel guilty at all about naked snogging of his technically of-legal-age boyfriend.

* * *

Unlike Harry, Cedric and the rest of the Hogwarts students, Remus Lupin spent those few days going from dawn until long after dusk.

The _Prophet _had carried his testimony before the Wizengamot in gruesome, lurid detail; now each morning seemed to bring a fresh flock of howlers along with a huge amount of other correspondence. As owls couldn't find him behind the Fidelius charm on Number 12, Grimmauld Place, it had initially presented something of a problem for the entire neighborhood. Even the stupidest of muggles could see that something odd was going on, with the large number of owls that were flying back and forth over Grimmauld Place; the Oblivators that contacted Eddie Spindle were none too amused.

The mail problem was solved by having a notice put in the Prophet that all correspondence to Mr. Lupin or the Lords Potter and Black should be sent in care of their solicitor. Eddie and Poly's offices were well equipped to dispose of the howlers, and Remus found that his morning correspondence was greatly aided by receiving the post already sorted into general categories.

The Ministry was dragging its collective heels in giving him any clear way of checking the past histories of those werewolves who were writing to him, some actually begging for jobs. A partial solution came from Eddie Spindle, who suggested that Remus use muggle investigators as much as possible. As his office typically worked in both worlds, he had experience with this, and (for his usual fee, and with his customary quiet competence) he was more than happy to help.

Sirius 'surprised' Remus by going to Gringotts and having the wolf made Seneschal of the Black estates. Remus' only remark about this was that at least the Goblins wouldn't make an announcement about his new post in the _Daily Prophet_.

"I really don't want to know what the _Prophet_ will say when they find out that not only Harry, but now you, Padfoot, have made me your Seneschal," he grumped.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about it too much, Moony" Sirius said around his tea. "After the way they lambasted you for having the gall to actually speak before the Wizengamot—what with you being the dangerous dark creature you are, and all—I rather doubt that there's much else they can say about you."

"Well, I suppose there is that," Remus nodded, going back to his own morning paper.

One of the problems that Remus had already found a solution for was the next full moon's supply of Wolfsbane potion. An Italian apothecary had been able to supply him with almost 50 doses for a reasonable price, and were open to being a regular supplier, in volume. He was still hoping that the Goblins would allow him to rent a vault or two for the night, but he was also still keeping an eye out for other options.

"Madam Rosmerta sent an owl," Sirius said, interrupting Remus' thoughts. "She says that she's been getting more and more inquiries about jobs for werewolves. She's telling them to contact Spindle's office, like she read in the _Prophet_, but says she's tired of being your secretary."

Remus snorted. "I completely understand how she feels. Remind me to send her a thank you gift," he said.

"Why don't we take it to her in person?" Sirius asked, leering across the table. "Give you a chance to chat the old girl up, get out of this old pile, and see where the new house is going to be."

"Because you'll wind up doing most of the chatting—and drinking—yourself, I've much too much work to do here today, and you've already seen the site. I doubt that much has changed, even with your two men working on it."

"Oh, Moony, you're not fun," Sirius pouted.

"Exactly. That's why I'm the Seneschal, and you're the Lord," Remus smiled.

"Well, there is that..."

* * *

Percy Weasley was having the time of his life!

Say what you will about one Cornelius Fudge, the desire to micromanage is not one of the man's faults. He is a master of delegation, and one of the first things he did after leaving the Wizengamot was to pass off managing pretty much everything that had just been decided.

"I'm going to my office to have a nice cuppa, Weatherby. See that I'm not disturbed," he'd announced, before stomping away.

Thus blessed by the Minister, Percy went to it with the same Gryffindor spunk and determination that had made him Head Boy. That evening, he was in emergency meetings with the magical Ambassadors from around the world, and speaking 'as a Special Assistant to the Minister', and with the Minister's voice.

The Ambassadors, for the most part, knew just what Fudge was all about, so being told that they'd be allowed to send humanitarian aid by a junior flunky was about what they'd expected. They came, said the proper things, gave a small smile, nodded politely and left, without causing any international incidents.

Percy was quite surprised when the American Magical Ambassador gave him no trouble at all. The woman could be a bit difficult at times, but it seemed that all she wanted from him at the moment was a number.

"How many people are we talking about here, Mr Weasley?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Just exactly how many people are displaced and in need of assistance? In other words, how many people survived the attack?" The Ambassador asked once more.

"I...er...I have that number right here, just a moment," Percy began fumbling through the parchments of his desk.

The Ambassador sighed, then leaned back in her chair.

"It's between fourteen and nineteen hundred, isn't it?" she asked.

"Be pardon?" Percy said, looking up, confused.

"The intel reports I've seen put the total Hogsmeade population at somewhere between eighteen and nineteen hundred, with another few hundred in the surrounding environs that come in on market days and such," she waved her hand to indicate the general inaccuracy of her data. "Our best figures are that the attack killed between fifty and one hundred people, but the only real sources we've had have been the popular press. You're housing the survivors in Hogwarts castle and you need to get them out. So, the question is," she leaned forward intensely. "How. Many. People."

"I...see," Percy said. "I'm afraid that...I don't have that information close to hand, but it is in the range of one thousand, eight hundred people."

"Good enough," the Ambassador nodded firmly, then stood. "A number, and permission to come, were the only things we were waiting on. I'll be in touch, Mr. Weasley," she finished, rising to leave.

Percy couldn't let well enough alone. "I say, Madam Ambassador..."

The Ambassador paused, looking back at the much younger man. "Yes?"

"I, um...thank you?" Percy stumbled, then recovered as best he could.

The Ambassador took pity on the young man, and had a brief flashback to what it had been like to be that young and forced by circumstances to deal directly with those far above you in the ranks. "Mr. Weasley, you don't have to thank me, but it is appreciated. I know that your Ministry and my office don't always see eye to eye, but you've got people who are hurting and in need. Just remember this: the American people, muggle or magical, will find a way to help our friends when tragedies like these occur. All we need is permission to do it." She smiled warmly at Percy. "Now, I'm going to go make a few calls, and get you some help on the way. I'll be in touch."

She was gone before Percy could speak.

Well now, he thought. That was not what I expected at all.

* * *

Hermione Granger was at her wit's end. Having already read the books for the upcoming year, she suddenly found herself at something of a loss when the entire school was penned in their House dorms for day after day after day. Yes, she understood the necessity of doing so, and she completely agreed with the Headmaster's reasoning; that she was bored out of her mind with even the ability to access the library was still beginning to wear on her. And, she being who and what she was, on those around her.

McGonagall had helped matters a bit (and probably prevented a lynching, or at least a savage pranking) by convincing Madam Pince to take requests for books, and have them delivered by house elf. Hermione's feelings about house elves weren't enough to stop her from taking advantage of the service with a vengeance. After all, she had OWLS to revise for, and only nine months left to do it in!

As usual, most of her House did their best to ignore the irritating girl. Sadly for him, Harry's living in the Lords Hall had left Ron completely at Hermione's mercy; without Harry to help distract her, Hermione was a force of nature unleashed.

Just to make things extra special hellish for Ron, the essays the teachers were assigning were all at OWL level; something that he really didn't appreciate. Between having to do his own work by himself (no Harry around to help) and Hermione's insistence that "when a Professor says two feet, you should really not settle for anything less than four", the youngest male Weasley was being forced to study like never before in his young life.

Ron didn't much appreciate THAT, either. Yet another reason to be mad at Harry Potter...

Meanwhile, the twins were rarely seen out and about, and people were starting to wonder just when the other shoe would drop.

After all, it had been far too quite for almost a week now.

* * *

When it dropped, it wasn't a shoe.

It was a box.

The morning flight of owls was in the process of arriving. Letters were falling everywhere, hands and arms were reaching out and waving, the more health-conscious students were shielding their plates from owl poop, and with everyone restricted to the dorms there hadn't been any encounters that would merit a Howler, not even from Molly "Mad Howler" Weasley. There was the usual scramble for the bacon and leftover sausages, along with the sounds of a school full of children opening their mail all at once.

Over at the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy found himself looking at a small wooden box. It was about the size of a two packs of Exploding Snap cards, one on top of the other. It hadn't been delivered to him per se, just been rather gingerly dropped onto the table in his general vicinity—along with Parkinson, Greengrass, and Zabini. It was made of a fine-grained wood, stained (Draco thought he could detect the slightest whif of tongue oil, it was a common potion base) a rich, deep brown. It had four small square legs, and the top overlapped the body by a fingers-width. Other than than, it was as plain as plain could be, without the slightest bit of trim or ornamentation to be seen.

And it radiated just enough magic to draw Draco's attention to it, and that immediately put him on his guard.

"Blaise...box," Draco said quietly, catching his frind's eye, then cutting his gaze sharply to the object on the table.

Zabini's long, slanted eyes immediately snapped to the box, and his previous conversation died in his throat. That was all it took for Daphne and Pansy to go quiet and begin to cautiously watch the box.

"Anyone's name on it?" Pansy finally asked.

"I don't think so, the owl just dropped it off," Draco said. Then, with a nervous grin, "rather gently, too. And, it wasn't too keen on staying around afterward."

"The owls know there's never any leftover bacon here, Crabbe and Doyle always clean it up right before the mail arrives. That's why they don't hang around this table," Daphne shrugged. "I don't know that I blame them, but I'm not sorry that the flying rats don't hang around to defecate on me all during breakfast."

Draco palmed his wand under the table. "So...prank?"

Three sets of eyes agreed with him. "Our response? It appears we have a few seconds, at least," Draco asked.

"It's probably trigged by motion away from it, so if we dive away it goes off." Pansy said with certainty. Then, seeing her friend's reactions, she shrugged. "What? It's what I'd do."

"Yes, and that's why you're the evil genius we all know and love, Pans, darling. So, suggestions?" Draco smiled thinly at the dark-haired girl.

"_Finite Incantum_?" Blaise asked. "Maybe from two or three of us at once."

"I'd have a restraining hex on the activation spell that would be the first thing pulled off by _Finite_. Depending on the timing, multiple _Finites_ could disarm it, or just start it earlier." Pansy was staring at the box intently. She was biting her lip in concentration, but almost certainly unaware that she was doing it.

"Pansy?" Daphne asked, prodding her friend. "Time, remember? As in, not a lot of...?"

"I don't think it's nasty, or bad," Pansy said carefully. "It doesn't have that icky feeling that most pranks have...it's more...airy?" she finished, confused. "Light?" She shrugged once more. "I don't know how to describe it, but I don't think it's bad. Like, evil bad."

"Like, red and gold hair bad, or vomiting slugs for the next six hours bad?" Draco asked, looking away from the box at and Pansy. Parkinson had always had the most peculiar gift, in that she could "see"-although it was, for her, a multisensory experience—the intent of some magical things. It wasn't everything, and it seemed to wax and wane by some pattern they hadn't quite worked out yet, but Draco had never known her to be wrong.

"No, not at all like that. More like...candy floss, or maybe the magic on a chocolate frog."

"So...nothing bad."

"No, nothing."

"Candy floss can still be embarrassing," Blaise pointed out.

"Voice of experience, Blaise?"

"You were the one who tripped," Blaise reminded Draco calmly. "I got a new robe out of the deal, ultimately."

"Can we beat the dead thestral some other time?" Daphne cut both of them off. "Pans, you're sure? Last chance to say differently."

"I'm sure," Pansy said, then relaxed, her features curving into a smile. "I think...we might actually enjoy this, if we just relax and go along for the ride."

"You're kidding, right?"

"As if!"

"*snort* Sod that!"

"Language!" she snapped. "No, seriously. And, I think that whoever gifted us with this took pains to give us time to figure that out. It's like...a prank that you're in on from the beginning, so it's not really bad, just funny when you get doused in slime, or something."

"It's still slime," Draco said. He looked and sounded as casual as if he were discussing the weather.

"At worst, we all go shower, and skive off the first half of the day," Pansy smirked. "Seriously, that's all I'm getting from it. There's quite a bit of magic that's been dumped into it, that's for sure. Somebody's _good_."

"We'll debate that later, as we plot our thanks or revenge, as appropriate," Draco sighed, but his expression never wavered. "Well, then, Pans, do just wait for it or...?"

"I'd say wait for it. It shouldn't be too much..."

_click whirr click click whirr click click click_

Pansy was interrupted by the sounds from within the box. Immediately, the lid began to lift, revealing a complicated bit of clockwork done in shining brass.

"It's a music box," Daphne breathed.

"It's beautiful," Pansy grinned.

"The craftsmanship is...quite good," Draco said, looking closely.

"It's the spell work that worries me," Blaise answered. "My fingers are tingling...does anyone else feel that?"

"I...I think I might," Daphne admitted.

"No, Blaise, you're not the only one with tingly fingers...this time," Draco grinned. "It rather tickles."

"It's not bad, but I think it'll get better," Pansy said. Just then, the music box began to play. A tiny brass cylinder began rotating, and the notes ticked off as thin metal tines were plucked by holes in the cylinder. The tune was bright and tinkly, and several feet around the table began tapping in rhythm with the enchanted music box.

A muggle box would have wound down after one or two plays of its song, but this was certainly no muggle device! As the tune continued to play, various other instruments began to join in, as if from the very air itself! Heads all over the Great Hall were turning towards the Slytherin table as the music continued to grow.

Draco sat there, unaware he was swaying in time with the music, enjoying the gentle feeling of relaxation that was washing over him...when suddenly he had the urge to sing just one note.

So, sing that one note, he did.

And then he noticed that every Slytherin was sitting in their seats, occasionally half-standing then sitting back down, and singing! One note, one Slytherin. The next effect was that they performing along with the music box, popping up and down out of their seats like some demented hyperactive pipe organ.

_Be bop beep bop be bop beep bop, beep be beep bop bo..._

It was humiliating! It was degrading! It was...possibly the most fun that Draco had ever had, because it was so totally _UN_-Malfoy, and he was tingling all over.

_Be bop beep bop be bop beep bop, beep be beep bop bo..._

There was the main theme, which they were now repeating. Then there was a bridge, before the tune segued into what was apparently a trio section...and then they were done.

Exhilarated but tired, the Slytherins slumped down into their seats as silence claimed the Great Hall. The silence stretched...then was broken by clapping from the high table.

"Bravo! 50 points to Slytherin for that most excellent choral performance!" Flitwick was clapping madly, and the _Sonorus_ he'd cast on himself made his voice ring out through the hall. Just down from him, Severus Snape—who had been frozen in place as his house was made to perform such a ridiculous act—found himself smirking as he realized just what Filius was up to. His hands joined the Charms professors in clapping slowly but firmly.

There would be time enough later to find out who had cast the immobilization spell on him.

"Bravo!" At the Gryffindor table, Cedric Diggory stood, clapping loudly. Harry Potter jumped up on one side of him, and Neville Longbottom the other, each of them also clapping. Not to be outdone, several of the older Hufflepuffs also came to their feet, cheering and whistling.

In seconds, the entire Hall—except for, of course, the Slytherins—were giving a standing ovation to the Snake House. It went on for almost a minute, before the Headmaster rose to his feet.

"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin, well done. I must say, that was an impressive display of talents on many levels. I look forward to discussing those magics with the Prefects over the next few days. And, I think it only fair that you be allowed some time to recover from that most excellent performance. Consequently, and for today only, all Slytherins are excused from your morning assignments. Of course," Dumbledore twinkled. "We would like for you to complete your other work, beginning after lunch. Now, if you will excuse me," he finished, turning and leaving the Hall.

It was the signal for the students to leave for class. All over the hall, the sounds of benches scrapping back and bags being shouldered were heard.

"Well, it got us fifty points," Pansy pointed out, still a bit flushed.

"It made us look like idiots," Daphne growled.

"We're going to be laughing stocks, you know," Blaise said. He sounded almost resigned to it.

"No, you won't, because it was brilliant!" Harry Potter's voice shocked all of them, and heads whipped around to see the Boy Who Lived striding to their table. He was flanked by a mix of Gryffs and 'Puffs, and he was grinning from ear to ear.

"Potter, what are you playing at?" Draco hissed.

"I'm not playing at anything, Malfoy," Harry smiled back. "We all know that you were pranked, but it was a brilliant prank, and you all went along, which is what made it even more brilliant."

"Malfoy, it was the funniest thing I've seen in years. Besides, it looked like fun." Neville grinned down at the blonde. "I bet it'd be a right bugger to try to do without the spell, though."

"I'd say so," Draco let himself smile back as he agreed. "I'll let you know when I figure it out," he said, gently closing the box and putting it into his bag.

"Stealing the evidence, Malfoy?" a voice—Draco thought the boy was a Ravenclaw, but couldn't be sure—called out.

"Preserving it, more like," Pansy answered, leaning on Draco's shoulder. "You'll see this little gem again, in due time...trust me on that," she said, giving the loud-mouthed Ravenclaw a look that promised pain and agony in his future.

"Just remember, Parkinson, the spirit of the original," Cedric Diggory stood there, a stern look on his face. Pansy felt a tiny thrill run through her as she realized just how _hot_ Potter's boy toy was when he went all Righteous Hufflepuff-y.

"Oh, we will," Blaise said, rising and leading the rest of his group of Slytherins away. "In the meantime, you lot have to be off for class, while I," he grinned, "am going back to my bed for a few hours of well-deserved lie-in."

Smiling into the grumbling that followed him, Blaise led the Slytherins from the Hall.

* * *

"I'll say this, it's ingenious."

"More like evil genius."

"No, not evil...twisted, certainly, but definitely not evil."

"So, it's twisted genius?"

"That'll do as well as any, I think," Blaise drew back with a sigh. Around him, Pansy and Draco all had their wands out and were twirling them over the box, using different combinations of revealing spells. Daphne was off to one side, quill and parchment ready to take down any notes that might be needed.

"So, can we confirm that it was the Terror Twins who did this?" Draco asked quietly.

"No, we can't," Pansy said firmly. "Strongly suspect? Oh, yes! Confirm...no."

"They really are quite good, aren't they?" Daphne put in. "Just transfiguring the parts, much less getting them to work in that way..."

"They didn't transfigure the box. That, they made by hand," Draco shook his head. It must have taken hours.

"Almost all of the clockwork is transfigured, but I get the sense that they started from brass and silver stock. It would have been much easier to use transfiguration to make all of those little parts if you weren't changing the base metal as well." Pansy was peering into the device.

"So, a handful of knuts and a sickle or two? Doesn't seem like a lot, does it?" Blaise sighed. "See how they used a silver rod and plate, here and here? Since silver is a better medium for enchanting than brass, I'm betting the charms are carried there, and only released when the box begins playing."

"So, what is our response going to be?" Draco asked quietly.

"You will give that infernal box to me at once! I will find out just who made it, and see to it that they are expelled from this school!"

Severus Snape swept down on the group, robes billowing. The anger that twisted his sharp features usually only came from encounters with Gryffindors, one Harry Potter in particular.

In truth, Severus was still fuming from what had happened to him in the Great Hall. As he was leaving, Aurora Sinistra had had blocked his way, a feral grin on her face.

"Calm yourself, Snape; I know what you're angry about. I was the one that kept you from making a fool out of all of us just now," she'd said. "You may be Head of Slytherin House, but you're not the only Snake here. I, for one, am tired of my House always being the villains of the piece; why Albus keeps you on as an alleged role model for young Slytherins I'll never know. To anyone objective, it seems like the old goat fornicator wants the Snake house to be hated and reviled. Now, for once, my old House is getting not only points, but applause from the other Houses; it's about damn time. Mark me on this, Snape," she'd leaned in close and hissed. "Screw up this chance for the House, and I'll fry you in your own grease."

And then, she walked away, looking for all the world like a woman without a single care.

Having been physically blocked once already, Snape was not prepared when his students also moved to subtly protect the small box with their bodies. Draco—his own godson!-actually stepped in front of him!

"Professor, we'd like to keep it, and use it ourselves. It's really a fascinating bit of work; let us show you what we've already found out about it," Draco was speaking rapidly, trying to control the situation before it got out of hand.

Snape wasn't in the mood to listen to reason. "I'll have that box now, Mr. Zabini," he growled.

"Professor, I really think we should keep it for study purposes," Pansy put in as she moved to support Draco while Daphne shifted to stand on his other side.

"We already have a plan to use it to get back at Gryffindor," Draco lied smoothly.

"We were just trying to decide on the perfect song to use," Daphne improvised, a dazzling smile lighting her face.

"I think we should use 'A Wizard's Staff Has a Knob On the End'," Theodore Nott called out from a seat to one side. Draco looked over just in time to see him nod fractionally back. Obviously, Nott had been close enough to hear, but out of the way of their examination of the box. Well, that fit, Draco thought; Nott's magical analytic skills weren't a tithe of Blaise's, but he was much stronger on theory. He'd also, Draco recalled, had music lessons as a child, and continued them over the summers.

Snape paused, seeing his charges massing ranks against them. While he could overrule them, he had no doubt that he'd be having to deal with their parent's ire. He could just hear Zabini's mother laughing at him in that particularly irritating way she had. "Why, Severus," she'd titter. "Afraid of one little charmed music box? I'd have thought that standing before the Dark Lord would have made you immune to that kind of weakness."

Glowering, Snape took a single step back. "Have you managed to identify the creators of the vile thing?" he asked.

"Not definitely, no. We have a strong suspicion, but..." Pansy shrugged.

"It's enough to justify our making them the targets for our reprisals," Draco said firmly. "And, as long as we're careful with the verses we choose, Nott's suggestion has much to recommend it."

"Clearly, you will have to account for the younger ones," Snape nodded, his brows creased in thought. "Very well," he said, reaching a decision. "I leave it up to you to uphold the honor of Slytherin in this matter. Do not disappoint me."

And with that, he spun and stalked from the room, leaving a trail of sighs and relieved students behind him.

"Well, that went better than I'd expected," Blaise exhaled, moving back from the box he'd been partially sheltering with his arm. "A Wizard's Staff, Teddy? Are you sure?"

Theodore "Teddy" Nott stood and stepped closer, grinning like a loon. "Well, why not? Okay, so we won't use the worst verses. It's not like the little buggers don't know it already, is it?"

A general murmur of agreement went around the room, except for confused looks from one corner where the firsties huddled together.

"One way to find out," Pansy said, then craned her head and called out. "Oi! Firsties! Show of hands! All those who know more than two verses of 'A Wizard's Staff', put 'em up!"

The now terrified youngsters quivered a bit, then one, then a second hand went up. The rest of the group either shook their heads or looked like they were about the cry.

"Well, sweet Merlin!" Daphne laughed, having pity on the group. "We certainly can't have that, now can we?" she asked, looking around at her fellows. "All right, priorities. Draco, Teddy, Pansy, Blaise...you four get to work on the box. Crabbe, Goyle, fetch us a load of supplies from the kitchens; take a pair of firsties with you and show them the way. And as for the rest of you," she laughed, rubbing her hands together. "It's time for your Hogwarts education to really begin!"

It was a testament to the fortitude of the current crop of Slytherin firsties that none of them fainted just them.

* * *

The next morning, a nondescript owl dropped a small wooden box in front of Fred and George Weasley at the Gryffindor table. Immediately, those around it went silent as the box just sat there. Finally, Lee Jordan reached out and gently touched it with his finger.

Immediately, there was a clickety-whirring sound, followed by a number of softer clicks and other clockwork sounds as the box opened. Then, before anyone could run screaming or dive away in terror, a lilting melody began to play. It was light, and not too fast, and quite the toe-tapper. In fact, in short order every male within a dozen feet of it was humming along with it, tapping his toes or swaying in rhythm with it.

At the head table, the entire faculty looked on curiously, but no one moved to stop what was happening. Across the Hall, people were beginning to turn and look to see what was happeneing.

The music continued to grow until it easily filled the cavernous Hall, and then—with a suitable fanfare—Fred and George Weasley, Lee Jordan and Kenneth Towler sprang to their feet and began dancing and singing.

_"A wizard's staff has a knob on the end,_

_ It never will buckle, it never will bend._

_ He cherishes it, and calls it his friend,_

_ And he frequently takes it in hand."_

The quartet brandished their wands, and bells and ribbons appeared at their wrists and ankles. Another quick gesture, and their faces were all painted in the gold and crimson of Gryffindor. Linking arms, the group formed two pairs, leaped the table, and began dancing in the open space between the tables.

_"A wizard when young has a staff that is small,_

_ It's puny and weak, ineffective withal._

_ It grows with his power until it stands tall,_

_ As his fame and his glory expand."_

As the four danced, other older male students stood, transfigured their robes to match the group, and joined in.

_"The staff of a wizard can do mighty deeds_

_ It protects him from harm and attends to his needs,_

_ Provides him with banquets upon which he feeds_

_ And potions on which he gets canned."_

By now, students all over the hall were laughing and clapping in time with the music. At the high table, McGonagall turned to Sprout and quirked one corner of her mouth.

"Morris dancing?"

The tubby Herbologist smiled back. "So it would seem."

_ "A wizard's staff can do manifold tricks_

_ To puzzle the nobles and fuddle the hicks._

_ It rescues the wizard from many a fix._

_ It is totally at his command."_

Most of the Gryffindors—including Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom—were now dancing in the middle of the hall, stepping and twirling and bowing in a fine display of magically-choreographed mayhem. They all gathered, arm in arm, for the last verse, which was considerably slower than the others.

_"When a wizard is old, and is starting to fade_

_ He looks on his staff that with cunning he made_

_ The crown of his life and the tool of his trade_

_ And together they make their last stand!_

_ OOOOOOOOOOOH!_

_ A wizard's staff has a knob on the end,_

_ Knob on the end, knob on the end._

_ A wizard's staff has a knob on the end._

_ A wizard's staff is the wizard's best friend!"_

And with a flourish, the group bowed as one, their performance done.

The Great Hall went wild with applause as the impromptu dance troup caught their breath. Then, they turned and bowed, again as one, to the Slytherin table, where Draco and his friends were leading the standing ovation.

Harry and the Twins all caught Draco's eye as he smiled and nodded back. The rules of the prank war had just changed; the invitation had been accepted, and the new rules agreed upon. No more harmful or shameful pranks; only those with good intentions would be allowed. The challenge would be to amuse, and to show off new magics; not to hurt.

As Flitwick's '50 points to Gryffindor' illustrated, the new rules weren't without their own reward.

It promised to be an interesting year, indeed.

**A/N:** nope, don't own the Discworld, either. Thank you, Mr. Prachett, for many hours of enjoyment. The verses of 'A Wizard's Staff' are those of Heather Wood (fanfiction ate the link, you can search for it, it's quite fun), don't own them, either; also thanks to her for that. Apologies for not updating sooner, RL continues to demand my writing time (which is good). Many thanks for the reviews, they keep me motivated to keep working on this piece.

A lot of the last few chapters has been set up; my hope (he said laughingly) is that the story will begin to move faster in a couple of chapters. I love it, but I really want to get it finished in as reasonable time frame as possible.

Also, you might want to check out The Bits Box, it's where I'm dumping little pieces of various things that really don't go anywhere else. Yes, I have been thinking a bit too much of Disney lately, as HP and the Alternative Tournament show; many of you will recognize just where the Slytherin performance came from after that little hint.

**Next Chapter:** International Assistance arrives.


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